


Ouroborus

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Dreams, Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David and Jack start having strange dreams that bring them together and force them to face a strange future. Spot knows more than he's telling and Racetrack chases after all of them, trying to make sense of it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue- 1895

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place about a year after the events of the movie and swerves almost immediately into the realm of the fantastic with a mild dose of horror on top. Hope you enjoy!

There was a dying immortal in New York City. It's familiar slumped alongside it, grumbling and wincing as they went. They walked unnoticed through the garbage laden streets. It glided over the streets, looking. There were many children, crying out, some dying, their spectral hands reached out to it. Hard pressed, it moved on. None of them were right.

A young boy, dirty and torn, stood at the top of a tenement building. He was staring down with a certain gleam. With the last of its energy it pushed upward to hover next to him.

"You should not." It spoke, a voice of the wind that few would bother to listen too.

"Yeah, well. What else is there?"

"There is grace, small one." Breathed the immortal, unsteady. "There is power and protection."

"What are you?"

"Once, I was the guardian of lost children." It wavered and lied. "Through you, I could be again."

"We'd protect them?" The boy asked suspiciously. "Whatever it took?"

"Yes."

"Then yeah." The boy took a step back. "But I wanna get out of here. Start right now."

As the entity seeped into the boy's skin, the familiar whimpered. Using it's new delicate small hands, the entity reached into the thin chest. The boy struggled, of course, but it ignored him. This was survival. It would not be able to live in the waking world for long with the mark upon him. He reached and pulled. There was a long wet sucking sound and the screamed. The entity handed its bloody prize to its familiar.

"Go back now." It commanded. "Be my eyes. Return this to me when the time is right."

It bit its lip as the familiar took up it's burden and disappeared back into the Dreaming. Wounded and tired, it coiled up into the boy and found all the secret niches in his mind to sleep. The boy would flourish, it would keep up it's bargain. It would live the half-life of an exile, bound to mortal flesh until such a time that it could return. It shivered as the boy descended the stairs and moved out in the street. Even here in the waking world, it could feel the tremors in the Dreaming of immortals and gods unknown for thousands of years. Something had broken and could never be repaired.


	2. Hunter

It was the kind of hot, oppressive night that dragged one through the unconscious kicking and screaming. Colored hallucinations that felt real enough to touch, pulsing and fraught.

David dreamed.

They were standing on their usual corner, hawking papers. Jack held a spear made of rolled papers in one hand, a battered golden breast plate covering his usual faded shirt and at his feet was a plumed helmet spotted in blood. In the street there was a thick battle fray, newsies armed with paper weapons against soldiers with spears and swords. They moved in slow motion, their cries muted.

"Shouldn't we help them?" David asked helplessly. He looked for a weapon, but found none.

"It's already happened." Jack shrugged. "Come. We have things to do." Without even a glance backwards at his friends, Jack strode down the street.

David hurried along beside him. The streets turned to grass beneath their feet, the storm clouds followed them overhead.

"What are we doing?"

"Making it right." Jack pointed out, back towards the city. Flames were rising and the muted battle sounds drifted in their wake.

"How do we fix that?" He shook his head. "It's bigger than us."

"Us." Jack repeated. "That's what needs fixing."

"I didn't know we were broken." David spit in his hand and reached for Jack, but no handshake was forthcoming.

"When we paid our respects to Achilles and Patroclus, we began something." Reaching down, Jack started to unbuckle the chest plate. "When you were taken from me, I assumed that it was over. That death had providence over you. I knew you to be somewhere beautiful and green and peaceful. Who was I to take that from you?"

"Why are you talking like this?" David's throat ached and his stomach roiled. "Jack..."

"I cannot bare it." The chest plate fell away. Underneath was not the chest of the young man David knew. Darkly tanned skin, oiled to gleaming and deeply cut muscles replaced the thin paleness he had glimpsed in passing. "To hear you call me by another's name after all this time. How many generations have we wasted looking for each other? When else have we fallen so low?"

"I'm sorry." David sputtered, compassion welling up for this strange hybrid.

"Don't be sorry." A hand caressed his face, Jack's hand, calloused and paper cut. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, David stared into the other man's eyes. They were the familiar deep brown, but lined with age and deep grief.

"Do you know me?" It was Jack's voice as it might be in ten years when time and care had worn it low.

"Yes." David breathed out. "I know you. Alexander."

Jack's hand pulled him closer until their lips touched. The kiss scorched through him, setting the grass on fire and the air pulsing, filled the air with the crying of birds. Warm hands caressed him, the rest of the clothing and armor falling away. When they were naked before each other, they fell to a patch of unscorched earth, entwined.

"We have much left to do." Alexander said, even as he reached for him, rolling David under his powerful body. "Are you prepared for what is to come?"

"I don't know." He ached to touch, to take, but tried to focus on what was being said to him. "What do I have to do?"

"Bring us together again. We are one. Already much has been accomplished, but there is always more to do. Conquer, unite." Alexander leaned down and kissed him again. "We are Great."

David reached for him, to protest, to draw him closer, but was stopped by the sight of his own arm, bronzed and strong.

"You remember yourself." Satisfaction fairly oozed from the other man.

"I'm just a newsie." David protested.

"You can never be just anything." Pressing himself against David's body, Alexander felt heavy and present, barely Jack at all now. "You are Hephaestion. You are Alexander. We are one. And we are mighty."

"No!" David cried out, shoving at him. "I'm David. And I want Jack. Please!"

"As you wish." A faint smile remained on Alexander lips. "But something has begun, beloved. And we are needed."

He woke, soaked in sweat and trembling. Opening his eyes, he breathed a sigh of relief to take in the familiar apartment. Behind him, Les slumbered taking in uneven breaths. Careful not to wake him, David crawled out of bed. When he stretched, one of his knees popped and some of the tension left his back. Carefully, he made his way to the window, sliding it open and swinging out onto the fire escape. The air wasn't much cooler, but at least there was a slight breeze. A sudden noise made him look down to find someone climbing upwards. Someone wearing a familiar hat.

"Davey!" Jack looked stunned and flushed. Sweat poured into his eyes. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. What are you doing here?"

"Dunno..." Bonelessly, Jack slid down next to him. "Gonna sound really stupid."

Hungrily, David stared at him. He was all Jack, rumpled and young and lithe.

"Tell me anyway."

"Had a weird dream." Jack mumbled and the sweat on David's back turned to ice. "Felt real like. And you was there, but you wasn't you."

"Oh, God." David gasped, but Jack seemed not to hear.

"You was wearing one of them suits of armor like in the comics." He went one. "Talking funny. And I was scaring you and I couldn't stop and it was like someone else was with us."

"What did I call you?" Asked David.

"How did you...." Turning, Jack took in David's face. "You...said you knew...Alexander."

With as much dignity as he could muster, David turned his head and threw up.

The world being what it was, they still had to go to work. They washed their faces in a basin of water, David got dressed and woke Les. They shared a loaf of bread and a cup of coffee before heading out to the lines. The oppressive heat of the night before had only intensified and most of the other newsies were listless as they waited on line for their papers. No one noticed that their fearless leaders were at less than their best.

"How many papers are we gonna ta get today?" Les chirped, stabbing his wooden sword into the air.

"Day like today, no one's buyin' nothin'." Groused Boots. "I'm gettin' thirty and I'm prolly gonna eat most of 'em."

"Not me!" Racetrack laughed. "Nice and shady by the track. Bet you I sell loads."

When it was their turn at the window, Jack paused, seeming at a loss for words.

"The usual." Said David. "Just the usual, sir."

"Yeah." Jack laughed creakily. "The usual."

Stack of papers split between the three of them, they began walking past diners where early morning customers were throwing back coffees despite the heat. They sent Les ahead to scout their usual corner. Usually, they talked with the workers rushing by, gleaned real news and strike information. Today they exchanged nods and very few words.

"C'mon!" Les encouraged when they dragged their feet. "Got a regular already."

The morning rush passed in a blur. Their stack of papers dwindled despite Jack's less than enthusiastic hawking. Sometimes in the middle of pushing a paper, David would look up to find Jack staring at him. It wasn't the first time it had happened, but usually if he caught him at it Jack would look away in a hurry. Not today. Instead, their gaze would catch and hold until the customer got impatient.

"David!" Les whined, breaking his concentration during one such episode. "I want to go down to the park. Snips says it's cool under the trees."

"We should wait until after lunch." He said vaguely. "If we're lucky we'll sell out by then and we can get something to eat."

"How many we got left?" Jack asked.

"Twenty." Les frowned and counted again. "Nineteen."

"Nineteen? We can pass those easy 'fore dark. Let's get some shade."

The park was blessedly quiet. Most of the visitors were gathered around the lake taking genteel strolls, looking longingly at the water.

"Here." A low branch gave easy access up into one venerable tree. Jack swung up and put a hand down to grab up Les. They climbed until a reluctant breeze reached their upturned faces. Les promptly fell asleep on a wide branch under David's watchful eye.

"I know who they are." He said into the ensuing silence.

"They ain't nobody." Jack slid his hat over his eyes. "Just a weird dream."

"You know it wasn't like that." David sighed. "I'll need to go the library. Look some things up. Greek history."

"Leave it, Davey." Stretching backward, Jack managed to look perfectly comfortable. "Take a nap."

"How can you just...oh never mind!" Planning to keep watch, David leaned against the thick trunk.

In minutes, his troubled sleep of last night caught up to him.

He opened his eyes to a busy street. Goats milled to his right, a leather aproned blacksmith to his left. All around him, a crowd pressed. Yet no one touched him, leaving a respectful distance around him.

"General!" A tall, smiling man greeted him. "I had heard you were back. What good tidings and luck."

"Craterus!" A voice boomed and it took David a long moment to realize it had come from himself. Unbidden his hand came out to clasp the wrist of the other man. "The journey was long and I am much fatigued, but it was profitable. I see the city grows."

"Aye!" Craterus laughed. "And there is food and water in abundance, but I can guess what you want first."

"Is he here?" Unbidden, a happiness welled in David's chest. He resigned himself to being along for the ride.

"For a week already. We are waiting for his word to proceed. I’ll take you to him and perhaps you can get a straight answer from him."

"I'm his friend, not a miracle worker."

They shared a laugh and walked down the road up towards an olive grove.

"There is something you should know, my friend." Craterus said more somberly. "His mood has been most strange. I think he bares something in mind and holds it close."

"As you say, I am the one then to pry it from him."

"Aye, well there he sits...or lies." Snorted Craterus.

Under a tree, Alexander slept. He wore simpler clothes than the last time. A linen toga tied with a fine green braided belt fell around his sleeping body.

"I'll take it from here." Affectionately, he pushed Craterus away. "We will return in time for dinner."

"Yes, I've heard that before." The other man shook his head as he walked away.

David's body walked to Alexander's side, sitting down at his side and taking up one limp hand. David searched it for signs of Jack, but found none.

"My king." The unwilled voice cajoled. "Wake for me."

Alexander's eyes fluttered open, a smile breaking the stoic peace of his face.

"Hephaestion!" Strong arms wrapped around him and a kiss brushed over his lips. "When did you arrive?"

"I still have the road's dust on my feet."

"Come, lie down with me and tell me of your journey." Alexander pulled him down with little resistance until Hephaestion head lay on his shoulder. It was comfortable and warm.

"First tell me what idea has gotten into your head and worried your subordinates. They think you are scheming."

"Ah! But I am. For you and me. I want to make a stop before we begin our campaign."

"Oh? A vacation perhaps?" One of David's betraying hands strayed beneath the soft robes cloaking Alexander's torso. His fingers danced over the fine chest and stomach.

"Not quite. It is Troy that I have a mind for. I wish to see it with mine own eyes."

"I see, your well love Illiad again!" He smothered a smile in Alexander's shoulder. "The time for that legend is long past."

"Perhaps, but not so long that we cannot make our tribute."

"Our tribute?" He kissed Alexander's shoulder and neck. "To whom?"

"Achilles and Patroclus, of course." Alexander titled up his face to kiss him again. "I wish my men to know how things lie before we take our next victory."

"That is bold." He smiled. "Though you are mistaken if you think we hold any secrets in that way."

"They think I lie with you to dally away the hours. You are my equal, Hephaestion and I will never have that questioned. They will know that you and I are like one."

"Alexander..." He struggled to sit up, staring down at his leader. "You cannot mean that!"

"How long have we shared our lives?" Alexander's dark eyes bore into Hephaestion. David shrank away, trying to hide. He did not want to confront the man again.

"Since we were children. And our beds since we were fifteen."

"You learned the same lessons as I, we shared teachers, food, beds and women. We think the same, our hearts beat as one. I want history to know this."

"They will not talk of me." Hephaestion shook his head, but could not stop himself from reaching for Alexander. "You are my heart."

"And you mine."

The ground began to shake.

"No!" Shouted Alexander. "You must see!"

"David! You're scarin' me!" A small voice cried out.

In a herculean effort, David manged to prize his eyes open. Les looked down at him, eyes wide.

"Hey buddy, what's wrong?"

"You and Jack wouldn't wake up. It was gettin' late and we still got paps to sell, but you wouldn't wake up."

"Sorry." David gave him a hug. Over his thin shoulder, he watched as Jack shuddered awake. Their eyes met and David felt his cheeks redden. "Must have been the heat. Why don't you gather up the paps and climb down? We'll be right there."

Once Les had disappeared from view, Jack pushed his hat back off his face.

"Olive trees." David said softly.

"It can't be." Now it looked like Jack might be the one to be sick. "This ain't right."

"You were in his head, what does he want with us?"

"I dunno." Jack wrapped his arms around himself. "Couldn't do nothing could I? Stuck watching."

"They loved each other very much." He said because he couldn't help himself. "I can't even imagine..."

"Don't." Jack started to climb down. "I need to think."

"I'm stopping by the library on the way home." David shouted after him, then started his painstaking climb down. He wasn't nearly as light on his feet as Jack.

By the time he reached the ground, Jack and Les were in an animated discussion about where best to sell their last few papers. It didn't escape David that they took a route that went directly past the library.

"I'll just be a minute." He ducked in.

"He'll be forever." Protested Les.

"Don't worry bout it. We gots time. Show me your left hook again."

The soothing smell of old books filled David with purpose. The librarian watched him go past with a reluctant smile. Once, he had spent his weekends here. Now, he was lucky if he could get in a visit before it closed to get something to read before bed. Carefully, he perused the shelves on Greek history. There were a few likely books that he took out and thumbed through. He couldn't take all of them without arousing some interest from his parents. Instead, he took the two most likely titles and approached the circulation desk.

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Jacobs." The clerk said stiffly. He wrote neatly into the book and into his records. "Due back in one month."

"Thank you, sir." He took them gratefully and walked out hurriedly.

The sun was starting to set, alleviating the heat only a little. Jack was leaning against a pillar, a cigarette hanging from his thin lips. Every inch the cowboy while Les jumped excitedly around him.

"We sold 'em!" Les told David. "We can get Mama some chicken for the Sabbath."

"Good job." He smiled at Les and then tentatively at Jack, holding up his books. Almost reluctantly, Jack smiled back. "Come to dinner?"

"Can't. Promised a few of the boys a trip to Medda's tonight. Maybe come by afters, maybe sleep out on the roof. "

"Bye Jack!" Les waved cheerily and then they were on there way home.

Dinner was a quiet affair with Sarah doing most of the talking. She had a new job at a glove factory. The money was a little better and she liked her co-workers. They spent the days chatting and it had made her more outgoing and forward thinking. She was talking about joining a Woman's Suffrage group.

"That sounds nice." Their mother said, looking bewildered. "I can't say I'd even know what to do with a vote."

"That's exactly the problem." Sarah replied, eyes fiery. "We've been silent too long."

After the dishes were washed and Les put to bed, David sat out on the fire escape with his books. They couldn't afford to leave the lamps burning at night, but the moon was strong and fat that night. He read long after his parents thought him safely in bed.

"Ain't you supposed to be asleep?" Jack asked when he appeared hours later.

"I could say the same to you." David set aside his book.

"Davey, M'sorry." Jack said so quietly that David had to strain to hear him.

"For what?"

"It's my fault. These dreams." Resting his chin on one knee, Jack stared out into the street. "Always been kinda wrong in the head, right? Like girls well enough and all, but sometimes...then there was you... and I..."

David tried to parse through the tangle and found himself flushing darkly.

"Oh, I...Jack." David sighed. "It can't be that that made this all happen. And if it is, then I'm just as guilty."

"What?" Dark brown eyes flew to his face, searching for answers. "You can't be."

"Well, I am. I never...never said anything about it to anybody."

"Me neither." Jack shook his head. "And we ain't gonna start neither."

"I'm not interested in getting soaked any more than you." Touching the cover of one of the books, David said. "And I don't think it's why we're getting these dreams."

"How yah figure?"

"Because I don't think being that way makes you dream vividly about historic events." He thumbed the orange book open to the section he'd marked. "Listen to this, it's a translation of Plutarch, one of the first historians ever: With such vigorous resolutions, and Alexander's mind thus disposed, he passed the Hellespont, and at Troy sacrificed to Minerva, and honored the memory of the heroes who were buried there, with solemn libations; especially Achilles, whose gravestone he anointed, and with his friends, as the ancient custom is, ran naked about his sepulchre, and crowned it with garlands, declaring how happy he esteemed him, in having while he lived so faithful a friend, and when he was dead, so famous a poet to proclaim his actions."

"Who talks like that?"

"Dead Greeks." David laughed. "Anyway, it means that what they talked about was real. It happened. And I never heard about that before even though I've read about him."

"Who is he?" Jack leaned against David's shoulder looking at the crude illustrations on the facing page.

"Alexander the Great. One of the greatest military thinkers of all time. He was the king of Macedonia by twenty and conquered most of the known world before he was thirty. This all happened in the 300 B.C.s." He flipped the page to show Jack the copy of the bust they believed to represent him. "He died when he was thirty-three of a fever and his kingdom was divided again within a few years. I bet that's one of the reasons he's so angry."

"Angry?" Jack frowned. "Not in that second dream."

"No, but that was a memory, wasn't it? The first one..." David shivered. "When I wouldn't give in..."

"Thanks for that." Jack said. "Choosing me."

"I always choose you." David kept flipping through the book. "Even when it's against my best interests."

"What about your guy?"

"Hephaestion?" David shrugged. "There's not as much about him. He was a general and then one Alexander's body guards. They were very close friends and when Hephaestion died, Alexander grieved for a long time. Actually, he died only eight months later. It's strange, they talk about how important Hephaestion was, but he's barely in any of the histories. Like they wanted to erase him."

"So he was right then. When he said that."

"I guess." David rubbed his eyes. "What do they want with us?"

"Something big, Alex said, right? But something about us and fixing it."

"I don't want to conquer the world. It didn't work out so well for them the first time around anyway."

"Me neither." Jack hesitated. "Do you think this will keep happening?"

"I don't know." David shifted uncomfortably. "Only one way to find out."

"Not sure I could sleep right now."

"It's that or fall asleep standing up tomorrow. At least here we can lay down." David stood up. "There's a blanket and pillow on the roof already. Sarah put it out there when I said you might want to sleep up there."

"How is she?"

"Fine." David shrugged. "I think she's found someone new to go around with. She isn't telling yet."

"It wasn't because..." Jack launched himself up the ladder.

"Yeah." Though David wondered as he ascended towards the roof.

They curled up together on top of the blanket. The heat pressed down on them. Reluctantly, David set his head on one side of the pillow. Jack rested his hand on one arm, staring up at the hazy night sky.

"I’d choose you too." Jack said finally, turning his head toward David. "In case you was wondering."

"I know, Jack." He reached across the small space dividing them, intending only for a reassuring pat. Instead their fingers found each other, meshing together.

"This ain't right, Davey...is it?"

"I guess we have to make our own rules. Like you always do."

"Yeah, maybe." For the first time all day, Jack smiled a little and David's heart lightened. "Go to sleep."

Sleep did not come easily, David lay tense until Jack's thumb started making small circles against his own. The rhythmic motion was soothing. They both closed their eyes and gave in.

The pain was searing and had he been master of his own body, David would have screamed. Instead Hephaestion bit his lip and watched as the surgeon pulled the spear from his arm, washed away the blood with water and bound it tightly in ripped rags.

"He does not cry out." Said the surgeon, clearly impressed. "Perhaps Alexander's boy is a man after all."

"I have seen more blood then you, sir. Do not impinge me while I lie unable to raise my sword against you." He growled. The surgeon went ashen. "Did you think me so weak that I would fall unconscious? And for the sake of the goddesses, I'm older than him! Do I look a boy to you?"

"Sir, I-"

"Enough!" A laughing voice rang through the tent. "Hephaestion do not torture the physician so. He is weak and knows not what he says."

"Alexander, is the battle won?"

"You question? Of course. We have taken the east bank. Egypt will join us before the year is out!"

They physician slipped away, leaving the two of them alone. Alexander knelt by his friend's side.

"How fairs your poor arm?"

"Oh, it's an annoyance. Barely touched me."

"Liar." Alexander looked over the bandage. "But you will heal. And fast I hope."

"My humble body will my lord's bidding I'm sure." Hephaestion smiled up at him.

"I'm sure." For a moment, Alexander hesitated. "Do you know this is not real?"

David felt Hephaestion's heart sink.

"I know I lay on this floor bleeding and speaking with you once before, but that was very long ago was it not?"

"Longer than you can conceive." Alexander sighed.

"Then how can we speak so? And walk in memory."

"We live in other's dreams. Two boys with barely any hairs on their chins."

The pain in his arm that Hephesetion had been fighting subsided and disappeared. The bandage fell away.

"What god's whim brings us here?" Hephaestion implored. "Why were we not allowed to rest? Did we not earn it with our blood and tears?"

"It happened at the tomb." Alexander reached out to brush a lock of hair from Hephaestion's forehead. "I do not understand it all. We linked our names to great heroes. And we have been summoned for this time and place needs heroes."

"What army do they fight?"

"I do not know."

"I do not understand." Sitting up Hephaestion placed his palms flat on Alexander's thighs. "What has this to do with us?"

"These boys are our representatives. We must use them to our purposes, to fight the war that is coming."

"How came you by this knowledge?"

"I do not know!" Alexander cried. "Beloved, you were gone and I in death was given no peace. I have lived many lives in many places. Always I chase you and you do not know me. This time you saw me! We were drawn together like magnets and won a victory all while barely aware of one another. That must mean something. That we are awakened together for the first time in thousands of years."

"This is madness." Hephaestion said, but he leaned forward to caress Alexander's face. Turning his head, Alexander laid a kiss on his hand. "I remember nothing. Only my death and then darkness."

"We can take their waking minds." Alexander said softly. "We could walk this world again together."

"No!" David struggled now, trying to make himself heard. It was one thing to gather information, another to willingly listen as they planned his destruction. "Your time is over. This is our life!"

"Ah my king..." Hephaestion sighed. "I don't-"

"No!" David cried again and this time, the dream shattered and his eyes opened to the first light of dawn. In the restless night, he must have rolled half on top of Jack. His ear was pressed to his thin chest and he heard the stuttering beat of his heart.

"Shit." Jack mumbled, stirring. "This ain't good."

"I think that's an understatement." David sat up, running his hands through his matted hair. "What are we going to do?"

"Fight 'em." Jack said firmly, propping himself up on his elbows. "They're only ghosts, Davey. They can't have us."

"Can't they?" David shuddered. "The last two nights between the dreams and the heat, I've gotten only a few hours of sleep. How many nights like that before we're too weak to stop them? To tired to prevent them from taking us over?"

"Then we'll have to do it in our sleep." Jack squeezed David's hand and it wasn't until that moment that David realized that all through the night, they hadn't let go of each other.

"I wish that this had happened another way." David said quietly. "I've thought about it before."

"What? Being jumped by dead guys?"

"No." David laughed half-heartedly. "Sleeping next to you. Waking up with you."

"Davey.."

"I know. It's wrong. This is all wrong."

"C'mere." Jack tugged him back down, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Thought we was making our own rules. So maybe it ain't wrong."

Burying his nose into Jack's shirt, David smelled the sun on skin, sweat and dirt and ink. It was reassuring. In the dreams, smell was missing.

"We need to stay together while breaking them apart." He said after several quiet minutes.

"Great. How do we do that?"

"No idea."

"Good plan."

"Thanks."

"Circulation bells gonna ring soon."

Nodding, David stumbled to his feet. He reached down offering a hand up to Jack. When he pulled, Jack tumbled closer than he expected. They stared at each other suddenly nervous and sky.

"We should..." David started. Then stopped and shook his head. "Our rules, right?"

"Yeah." Jack said, his eyes bright.

Tentatively, David slid a hand around Jack's neck and brought him the last inch closer. He kissed him stiffly with fear overwhelming passion. Worry churned his stomach, sleep clouded his judgement and he had to wonder if he'd misunderstood everything. Until Jack's lips softened under his and hands settled onto his waist drawing him close. They kissed in the forgiving early light, their hands not daring to stray. Still by the time they parted, David had to reach down to adjust an embarrassingly obvious erection. If it wasn't for Jack's own covert shifting, he would have been completely mortified.

"Wow." He said with a smile.

"We gotta figure this out." Jack grinned at him. "I wanna do that again with less voices in our heads."

The rest of the day went by in blur of heat, papers and sidewalk. David knew he should be thinking up a plan to prevent their potential hijackers. Instead, he spent the day trying not to stare at Jack and absently touching his lips. He could feel the ghost of the kiss long into the afternoon and every time he met Jack's eyes it was fresh again. Of course, Jack was composed and except for those fast glances, seemingly untouched.

"Sleepwalking, Mouth?" Racetrack had asked laughingly when they crossed paths midday.

" 's the heat." He muttered, ducking his head down.

"It's gonna rain tonight, bet you a nickel." Race waggled his eyebrows. "I feel it in my bones."

"Great, you jinxed us." Moaned Jack, knocking Race on the shoulder. "With your luck it won't rain for a week now."

"Hey, it ain't just me. Didcha's see the weather report in the pap? Rain for sure."

"I think everyone's hallucinating." David pointed up to the hazy blue sky. There wasn't a cloud in sight.

By nightfall, Race's rain wasn't looking any more likely.

"Look, I think you'd better come back for dinner." David said as they walked back towards the lodging house. "We should probably stay close for now."

"Yeah." Jack smiled and winked. "For a couple of reasons."

David pulled a prim face, but couldn't make his smile diminish.

"We can sleep on the roof again, no one will mind."

"Gotta get a change of clothes." He leaned down to ruffle Les' hair. "Hey kiddo, do me a favor?"

"Yeah, Jack?" Les bounced on his heels eagerly.

"Make sure your big brother doesn't take a nap or nothin' before I get there. No sleep for him."

"Why?" Les wrinkled his nose.

"No questions." Jack waggled his finger at him. "Ain't it enough I asked yah?"

"Yeah, Jack!" Les looked sternly at David.

"Great, thanks." David rolled his eyes. "I'll see you soon."

The Jabobs headed towards home and Jack to the lodging house.

A half-hour later, Jack was running a hand through his hair and knocking on the apartment door. To his surprise, Les answered with a small frown on his face.

"Sorry, Jack."

"What're you sorry for, buddy?"

"On the way home, David got clipped with a carriage. He was all right and all, just his leg was bleeding a lot. Mama bandaged it up and made him go lie down."

"Les..." Jack licked his lips. "Did he fall asleep?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm sorry for. He just looked kinda pale and tired. Mama said not to wake him up."


	3. Warrior

"Aren't you hungry, Jack?" Clucked Esther.

"No m'am." He rolled his hat in his hand. "The heats made it awful hard to sleep. I know with David hurt, maybe I should go home, but..."

"Don't be silly! Why don't you just crawl in with him. Les kicks in his sleep and I don't want him opening David's cut again. He can sleep with me and Meyer tonight."

"Thank you m'am." He tried not to sound too relieved.

"Oh and Jack?"

He froze. "Yes, m'am?"

"If you or David wake up hungry later, I'll leave two plates in the cold box."

Nodding and escaping to the relative safety of David's room, Jack was quick to shut the door behind him. Guilt bit at him some. No way Mrs. Jacobs would let him share a bed with her darling if she knew how he had corrupted her son. Then he saw David's face and shook it off. Another night, he could think about it. Somewhere, David might be trapped fighting off ancient ghosts without him. He kicked off his shoes, took off his suspenders, vest and shirt. Still half-dressed, he curled into the space between David and the wall.

With an eye to the door, he didn't put an arm over David and pull him close though he sorely wanted to. Instead, he closed his eyes and searched for sleep. At first, it seemed that he would never get there. He was too wound up and worried. Instead, it came for him in black tidal wave, pulling him under as he fretted.

The field from the first night rolled out under his feet. Sighing he tried to lift his arm and found it was came easily. When he raised his hand before his face, it was his own familiar fingers and palm. He was wearing exactly what he had been when he fell asleep. His bare toes wiggled in the grass. Turning to get his bearings, he found the field going on in every direction.

"David!" He shouted.

"He can't hear you, idiot child."

Jack spun around again to find Alexander in armor staring at him. It was the first time he'd seen the other man face to face. He was surprisingly boyish looking with thick wavy dark hair and gently rounded chin. In another life he could have been a newsie.

"Where is he?" He demanded, stiffening his spine.

"Out of your reach." Sniffed Alexander. "Now, give yourself over to me. I'm a busy man."

"Fuck you." Jack shifted his stance, raising his fists.

"You are joking aren't you?"

Jack didn't even see the punch coming. One moment he was upright, the next he was staring up at sky. It was thick with storm clouds. Shaking it off, he jumped back to his feet trying to ignore the blood gushing from his nose. He aimed a kick at Alexander's unprotected shin. He wound up on his back again. Staggering, he pushed himself back up.

"What are you even fighting for, boy?" Alexander shook his head, dodging Jack's next blow. "What kind of life will you have? What use is it to you?"

"I'm Jack Kelly." He wiped his nose on his arm. "President of the Newsboy's Union."

"A collection of children born to live in poverty. Your future is bleak, your past is depressing. Ten years from now you'll be stuck doing something menial and dull, remembering your glory days of selling newspapers. You are nothing."

"No." Jack gritted his teeth. "I got something else. Something strong."

"Not strong enough to land a punch on me." He taunted.

"Maybe not." Jack shrugged. "But I been beat before. By men meaner then you. Didn't make me want to stop being."

"Meaner? I doubt it. I see your entire life, Francis." Alexander reached out and grabbed Jack by the throat. He lifted him off the ground. "You cry at night in your bed, you create a lie of identity and place. You are a pathetic nothing. You will always be nothing."

Air cut off, Jack flailed desperately, lashing out kicks and scratches. The litany of Alexander's speech washed over him as he struggled. Just as everything started to go dark, Alexander dropped him.

"Give yourself to me." Alexander demanded.

"No." Jack coughed, rubbing his neck. "Go to hell."

"You have nothing to live for, Francis." He taunted. "No prospects, no brains, barely money to feed yourself. Give yourself to me and I will make us great beyond your imaginings."

"My name is Jack Kelly." He got to his feet, spitting blood. "And if you want me, you'll have to kill me."

Then he turned and ran. Behind him, he could hear Alexander cursing and the sound of metal hitting the ground. Apparently he couldn't run with his armor on. Jack didn't bother looking back to confirm it. Instead, he ran flat out, searching for any change in the scenery. Finally, in the distance he spotted a skyscraper. He moved towards it, trying to ignore the sounds of footfall behind him.

"David!" He yelled occasionally, when he had the breath for it.

As he grew nearer, the skyscraper looked thinner and thinner. It reached up into the dark clouds, twisting in the wind. Finally, he was nearly on top of it.

He swore. The skyscraper was no building at all, but a huge and twisted beanstalk.

"I hate this place."

Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw a dark figure growing every closer. Without a choice, he launched himself up the great vine. Years of climbing fire escapes eased his struggles. The leaves were broad and held his weight long enough for him to swing up to the next one. The ground disappeared at a staggering rate.

He thought his muscles should be tired and almost immediately he felt a dull throb in his arms. He winced than stopped. Why should his muscles hurt? Wasn't this all a dream? Wasn't it, after all, HIS dream? He thought about feeling rested and ready and sure enough the pain eased off and he was off climbing again. Lightening shot past him, arching across the sky and briefly lighting his way. Craning his neck, he saw that the stalk disappeared not into a cloud, but into a wooden hatch with a brass handle.

"Right." Pushing on, he reached the hatch, wrestling with the handle until it fell open with a whining creak. Using the last of his conjured energy, he pulled himself threw and hefted the hatch up behind him. Weakly, he stood searching the area for something to keep it closed. A room carved entirely of marble spread out before him. The ceilings arched impossibly high and his every movement echoed over and over again. There was nothing to push over the hatch, but when he turned to look at it again, there was only more marble.

"David!" He called again and heard the call returned him.

"Be at peace, he is safe." Walking from behind a pillar, Hephaestion stood before him. There was no denying that he, like Alexander, was beautiful. His hair equally thick, his features as fine, but there was something that called to him. It made him step forward in greeting instead of backing off in fear as Alexander would have inspired.

"Where?" Pleaded Jack.

"He will keep. It is you I want to speak too."

Jack glanced at the place where the hatch had been.

"Do not concern yourself with him." Hephaestion said quietly. "He cannot reach where I do not wish him too."

"But..."

"You must trust me a little. There is a story I must tell you." He reached a hand outward. "Come."

Hesitantly, Jack reached out. Gently, Hephaestion led him behind a pillar into a room he had not seen before. There were no chairs, but mounds of comfortable pillows which Hephaestion sunk into, leading Jack to settle next to him. It reminded Jack too much of the precious moment he and David had shared that morning and he tugged his hand away. Hephaestion winced.

"Forgive me." He murmured. "You are too like him."

"I'm nothing like that guy." Jack crossed his arms over his chest, feeling a little ridiculous when he remembered he was missing his shirt.

"Oh, but you are." Hephaestion stared at his face. "Not as he is now, but as I knew him. A story first."

"Then David..."

"Will keep." With a long stretch, Hephaestion sank into the pillows and spoke, his voice rising and falling hypnotically. "It is a story you might have heard once. It begins familiar. David slays Goliath, the giant that has terrorized his people. He uses a small weapon, a slingshot and takes down the mighty. He meets King Saul and is lauded a hero. Saul's own son, Prince Jonathan praises him. They become friends. It is said in the text that their souls were knit together. When King Saul fears David's power and seeks to kill him, it is Jonathan that saves him. When they are together, they are powerful. They are great. They are one. Jonathan died a young man and David lives to be a corrupt king.

"Achilles was a mighty hero, born into immortality and greatness. He took a lover named Patroclus and they were bound close together. When the other heroes of the age rose to fight against Troy, Achilles joined them. He fought along side them for many years. Then a king took a slave from him that he adored. Berefit, childish and angry, he stormed to his tent and would fight no more. No amount of cajoling would pull him from his spot. Patroclus could not bare to see his people lose the war. He begged Achilles to borrow his armor so that he might fool the Trojans. Achilles agreed as long as Patroclus returned as soon as the trick was played. But Patroclus did not heed him and in the heat of battle pushed forward until death came for him. Only then did Achilles rise, in grief and take up again his armor. Not long after, Achilles' weakness was discovered and he was killed. Together they are powerful. They are great. They are one. Patrolcus died a young man and Achilles quickly follows.

"Alexander is born a prince. His father wants the best education for him and sends him to the great Aristotle. There he meets Hephaestion. They are instantly like brothers. Within a few years they are lovers. When Alexander becomes king, he sets down Hephaestion among his men for he does not play favorites. On his own merit, Hephaestion wins his way to his King's side, becoming his body guard. Together they cut a swathe through Persia and Greece and Egypt. They come to love Persia and adopt it's ways. Hephaestion does what his king cannot face handing out both torture and reward where they are due. To celebrate their victories they drink. To celebrate their losses, they drink. And soon Hephaestion drinks himself to death. A high fever, a bottle of wine and he is no more. A handful of months later, Alexander drinks too and perishes. Together they are powerful. They are great. They are one. Hephaestion dies a young man, Alexander quickly follows.

"And then." Hephaestion's voice cracked, startling Jack out of the fugue state the story had put him in. "Then there is silence, child. For generations. Ruthless repression and rooting out. Judgments and terrible punishments. I know why we haunt you, why it is in your minds that we are reborn."

"Why?" Jack leaned forward.

"You are the first. Alexander was right. A battle lies before you. You must break the curse that has lain on all our heads, you must undo two thousand years of hatred and disdain. It is not a battle of spear and sword. It is one of words and righteous fury." Hephaestion grabbed Jack by his shoulders. "Can you do this? Are you capable?"

"I...what?" Dazed, Jack's mind race. "I don't understand."

"Ah!" Hephaestion let him go. "Then I will show you your David. It is something you must decide together anyway."

Eager now, the last of the lethargy leaving him, Jack rose from the pillows.

"You should tell 'em what you told me. I'm not so good with that kinda stuff."

"He has already heard it." Said Hephaestion. He pushed open another magically appearing door.

It was David's small bedroom. On the bed, they lay curled together, eyes flickering wildly behind their lids. Sitting in a chair, staring at them was David. Again.

"I hate this place." Jack repeated.

"Hi." David in the chair said quietly, his attention on the sleepers. "We don't look peaceful."

"Ain't exactly having the best dream." Hesitantly, aware of Hephaestion at his back, Jack edged toward David's chair. "Least I'm not."

"Did he tell you?"

"Yeah, sorta. Kinda confusing."

"Yes." Finally, David turned gaze to him. His eyes were glowing. "Come here."

His stride ate the last bit of space between them.

"Where were you?" David asked.

"I'm lost." Jack admitted. "I lost you."

Sinking to his knees like a supplicant, Jack laid a hand on David's knee.

"When we first dreamed, Alexander said to me in your body that it was us that was broken." David brought his hand up to Jack's face, stroking his cheek. "He thought that by worshipping Achilles and Patroclus, he had brought down a curse on all men like us. He wants to break the curse. Hephaestion thinks it isn't quite a curse, but something that's broken in the way people see us. That we have to make them see that there's nothing wrong with the way we love."

"We'll be dead!" Jack protested. "They kill people like us, Davey. People they even think are like us."

"We've taken on Goliath before."

"Yeah, but that was different! Who's gonna stand behind us now?"

"Do you think we're the only ones?" David asked dreamily. "They're like the newsies, Jack. Looking for a leader. Don't you remember that writer, the one that died a few months ago?"

"Wild something."

"Oscar Wilde, right. He was tried for loving another man. Remember?"

"Weren't the love they tried him for Davey. Was what he did in his bed."

"They make it about the bed, Jack. Don't you understand?" David stroked a thumb over Jack's lips bringing a gasp from him. "If it's about something secret and dirty then they can get you. But it isn't. It's love. That's what we have to show them. Love that's worthy. And we have to do it together. We'll be strong enough to fight anything then."

"I'm sacred." He choked out.

"So am I." The glow went out of David's eyes and he seemed himself again. "But we're going to do it, aren't we?"

An angry crash broke the quiet moment. The door to the bedroom has been thrown open, splintering the wood.

"Alexander." Hephaestion said sternly. "Be calm."

"No." He advanced on Jack. "You cannot crawl any further, worm."

Instinctively, Jack stood in front of David, shielding him.

"You cannot do this, beloved." Hephaestion laid a hand on Alexander's shoulder. "We aren't meant to take their place."

"How can you divine our purpose?"

"Because I listened and I watched and I thought." Sighed Hephaestion. "I am less angry and bitter than you."

"You did not have to bare our parting." Dismay fairly poured from the fallen king. "You did not have to live long centuries, watching our legacy become a few scattered marbles and badly translated myth. I have lost you too many times."

Jack felt David press against his back. Their hands grasped each other in solidarity against the force of Alexander's misery.

"Then you must not do the same to them." Hephaestion pointed to David and Jack. "They are our heirs. They will make a world where our story can be written and read."

"They are just boys!"

"You led an army when you were younger than they."

"They are not Macedonians."

"No." Hephaestion regarded them with a slight smile. "But I can forgive them that. Because they have something stronger."

"What strength lies in them?" Alexander looked down his nose. "Look how they cower even now at the moment of fate's decision."

"Jack tried to tell you when you made to beat him. Tell him, child. Tell him what gives you strength." Hephaestion cajoled.

Straightening his spine and lifting his chin, Jack faced Alexander.

"I got a family." He said, squeezing David's hand. "A best friend. Maybe last year you came, I woulda laid down and died. Now, I gotta live for someone else. Couldn't leave Davey alone."

"I see." Alexander looked over Jack's shoulder to David. "And what say you?"

"Together, we kill giants." Said David, staring back defiantly. "We-"

"are powerful." Jack finished, remembering Hephaestion's story. "We-"

"are great." David drew in a breath.

And they said,

"We are one."

A great and terrible silence filled the tiny bedroom.

"Ah." Said Alexander eventually. "I see."

"We must confer." Said Hephaestion.

The two Macedonians disappeared back into the room of pillows, leaving the boys clinging to each other.

"David?"

"Yes?"

"I really really hate this place."

"Me too."

They collapsed into the small chair together, David settled haphazardly in Jack's lap. Needy and shaking, Jack pulled him as close as possible. David gave him no resistance, throwing an arm around him and pressing his lips to Jack's forehead.

"I don't know if it was clear." David said into Jack's hair. "But I love you."

"Yeah." Jack pressed a kiss to David's jaw. "Startin' to believe that. Don't go dyin on me, all right?"

"Wasn't planning on it."

"Seems like you done it near every time before."

"Not this time." David's arm tightened around his shoulders.

"We're gonna lose a lot of friends. Earn more enemies."

"I'm sorry. I think that...means more to you than to me. The newsies are your family."

"Didn't stay for them, did I?" Jack reminded him, but couldn't fight back the lump in his throat. "They ain't gonna like it."

"No. And my parents..."

"We gotta keep it quiet a few weeks. I got some money, but we'll need more. Find us a place to stay. Or just you know...give you some time to think."

"I'm done thinking. If ...if the worst comes, I'm ready for it this time. I can bare to lose anything, but you."

"David..." Jack's breath hitched. "You can't. You..."

"I can. I will." David kissed him, hands clutching at Jack's shoulders.

"You make me crazy." Jack said against his lips. "Like I can do anything."

"We can do anything."

"I approve of that attitude." Someone said by the door. They both jumped, hands falling guiltily to their sides. Hephaestion smiled at them from the shattered doorway. "Oh, don't stop on my account. You're both very pretty, you know."

"Uh, thanks." Jack gulped.

"We made a compromise." Hephaestion said gravely.

"And I still feel a war coming, beyond one of pretty ideals." Alexander put in from behind him, looking for all the world like a sulking child. "You must be prepared for both."

"We will leave you to your own lives in the waking world as long as you continue on path we have asked you to follow. Though by the sound of it, you have already decided that on your own. In return, we will stay here in your dreaming minds. You will learn what we have to teach to help you on your way." Hephaestion regarded them with clear affection. "Perhaps there will come a time when you no longer require us. If such a thing comes to pass, we will renegotiate."

"That sounds like a good deal." David turned to Jack. "All right?"

"Yeah. S'good enough."

David stood, spitting into his hand and offering it to Hephaestion. The Macedonian wrinkled his nose.

"That is disgusting." He said haughtily.

"Gods, you are fussy." Alexander spat in his hand and shook.

Unable to help himself, Jack began to laugh. Once he started, he couldn't stop. Watching him, David began to smile and his shoulders shook. Soon they were both rolling on the floor howling.

"Mmm. Maybe they are mad enough for what is to come." Alexander said thoughtfully.

"BOYS!" The splintered door rattled with the force of a knock. "BREAKFAST!"

"No." Jack moaned. Reluctantly he opened his eyes. They were full of grit that he wiped at ineffectively. He was still tucked behind David's back and he leaned forward to kiss the nape of his neck. "You awake?"

"Barely." David muttered, turning around slowly. His dark curls were plastered to his forehead. "I think we won."

"Dunno." Tenderly he brushed the hair back from David's face. "Think it's only just beginning."

"Do you hear that?" David said suddenly, sitting up. "Look."

The first drops of rain were hitting the window pane. In the distance, a crack of thunder rolled through the sky.

"Boys!" Meyer called again. "Sarah! You'll all be late."

Scrambling, laughing and tumbling over each other, they dressed. It was hard not to reach out and begin another kiss, but the danger of discovery kept them cautious. Instead, they sat thigh to thigh, hands brushing under the table while they ate.

"Where is that girl?" Easter huffed, disappearing into the hallway.

"Did you boys sleep well?" Meyer asked from behind his coffee mug.

"Yessir." Jack smiled. "Guess I did."

"Me too." They grinned at each other.

"Where is she?" Easter came back into the main room as though Sarah might suddenly appear.

"She wasn't asleep?"

"It doesn't look like she ever came home!" Esther cried. "Her bed isn't slept in. She told me she was working another shift last night and not to wait up. Oh! My poor girl."

A knock came from the front door. Meyer rose. "That's probably her, dear. She might have stayed with one of her friends rather than walk home."

But the knocker was not Sarah. A grave face policeman held his hat in his hands.

"Are you Sarah Jacob's father?"

"Yes, I am."

"Oh! My little girl, is she all right?"

"She's fine, m'am. But she's in a fair bit of trouble." The policeman stepped inside. "She's been arrested for conspiracy."

"Conspiracy! Against who? She's just a baby!"

"Easter, please." Meyer grabbed his wife's arm. "Let him explain."

"Ms. Jacobs and a group of women held a rally last night. When they were asked to disperse, they resorted to violence. Ms. Jacobs punched a police officer."

"Good for her." Muttered Jack. David elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"She is claiming that the officer attempted to assult her first, but it doesn't look good. She and the other girls have been assigned a public defender. Her bail was set at fifty dollars. Her trial date isn't set yet. Visiting hours are from ten to twelve and five to seven." He tipped his hat and started down the hall. "Just a courtesy to inform the family."


	4. Harbinger

The clouds showed no intention of stopping at their work. Sheets of water covered the sidewalks, streets became muddy rivers and the newsies huddled under dripping awnings.

"Damnit." Racetrack slammed down a soggy pile of papers, right into a puddle. "Ain't no one gonna wanna buy this pile of pulp."

"Bad day?" Blink lit a cigarette, took a long drag and passed it to him.

"The worst. Ain't been dry since I left this morning and I ain't sold nothing. Paid out fifty cents in lost bets. And my shoes are leaking." He whined, taking a long pull before handing it back. Smoke spewed from his nose.

"Guess you'll stay close to home today then."

"Nah. M'wet already might as well get wetter." He took off his cap and wrung it out. "Gonna head out to the track. Wanna come?"

"Hell no." Blink took a long drag. "I'm gonna spend a nickel on a cup of coffee and make it last until they throw me out. Mush and Specs got a table already. Sure you don't wanna go?"

"I'm a business man." Racetrack grinned, smoothing out his suspenders. "Work every day."

"Right." Blink pushed at him good-naturdly. "Don't drown."

"Later." Taking a deep breath, Race headed out into the rain.

It wasn't until he was crossing the bridge that he decided to skip the track. In this rain, most owners wouldn't risk a fatal fall for their horses anyway. Maybe the dogs would be trotted out, but Race always felt kinda bad for them when they slipped in the mud. Instead, he changed course and headed towards the abandoned warehouse. During the day, the lodging houses closed their doors. If the Brooklyn newsies wanted to take shelter from the elements, they headed there.

He knocked on the tin door.

"Yeah, who's there?" Someone called out.

"Racetrack." The door slid open a few inches.

"What's the password?"

"Aw, c'mon Peanuts, I'm freezing. Let me in."

"Racey, I would, but you know how the boss feels about these things..." Peanuts grinned at him.

"Let him in!" A chorus of voices called from behind Peanuts.

"My audience awaits!" Race tipped his hat and squeezed by the bigger boy into the marginally warmer and certainly drier warehouse.

A group of boys were sitting on old milk crates. A line of clothes were hung over head, dripping onto the floor. Most of the boys looked as miserable as Racetrack felt, huddling onto themselves to get dry and warm up. Except for Spot, who sat cross legged on the single salvaged chair, perfectly dry like even rain didn't dare touch him.

"Hiya, boys." Racetrack beamed. "Anyone up for a game of cards?"

"Aw, thankee Jesus! " Cried one of the boys. "We're going crazy bored here. Everyone done left their cards and things at the house. Weren't looking like rain when we left."

"Don't think our Racetrack is any kinda messiah." Spot snorted.

"Day like today, he'll do." Said the boy again. Eggers, that was his name.

"Well, Eggers, just for that warm welcome, you can choose the first game." Race settled onto an empty patch of ground. He pulled his playing cards out of his pocket, the one thing he'd managed to keep dry. Man had to respect the tools of his trade.

He soon had the others playing a merry round with the few cents they had in their pockets. Only Spot didn't join in, choosing instead to take his sharp knife to a piece of scrap wood. The knife flashed wickedly in the corner of Race's eyes. Wood shavings fell in small drifts around the rickety chair. The boys would occasionally look to him, testing his mood. As long as Spot was relaxed they played on, carefree as children. If he showed the slightest sign of tension, it would pass among them like a fast moving sickness. Luckily for Racetrack's pocket, Spot seemed calm today.

"You won't believe this girl I met last night." Peanuts started in when the last hand folded. "She was some kinda pretty."

Eggers laughed. "Bet she put her pretty nose in the air and walked home."

"Hey, I got a magic tongue!" Peanuts bulked himself up. "She gave me three kisses and said there were more in it if I met her tonight."

"Aw, yeah. I think I know what kinda girl she is!" Fink's giggles were alarmingly high pitched. "Anything for a penny, mistah."

"Oh shut up." Peanuts launched himself onto Fink and they were off rolling across the floor in a flurry of punches and kicks.

"Nice spendin' the afternoon with such respectable gents, but I've got a bridge to cross." Race stood, jumping as they rolled back his way.

"Bye Race!" "C'mon back soon." "Later, Racy!"

"Later, Brooklyn." He waved and stepped back outside, blinking in the relative brightness of the sunset. The rain had spent itself for the time being. Walking slow, he made his way nearly to the bridge before he heard a low familiar whistle. "Gee, Peanuts is that you?"

"You only think you're funny." Spot always seemed to come from nowhere. It was a talent Racetrack envied. "How much did you get off my boys?"

"'Nough to make up for not selling nothing." They started walking across the bridge together.

"Good. You can buy me dinner."

"In Manhattan?"

"Well, we ain't walkin' to Queens, are we?" Spot shook his head. "Keep up."

"Hey, me and my quarter can walk away anytime."

"Sure you can." He whistled softly and shadows shifted subtly.

"Thought you didn't station them on the Manhattan side."

"Didn't used to." Spot shoved his hands into his pockets. "Someone's been collecting tolls that ain't us. Now I gotta chase 'em off. Think it might be a loose gang."

"Bein' king ain't easy, huh?"

"Nah. But it's a living."

Three blocks from the bridge, by mutual accord they ducked into an alley. Spot crowded Race up against a wall, setting his cane next to him.

"Hi." Race whispered.

"Hey."

They kissed with a vengeful force, ripping into each other. Race fisted Spot's shirt tearing it from his pants, hands seeking skin as soon as it was revealed. They didn't dare take anything off, but instead pushed enough aside to rut frantically against each other. They clawed and bit, barely managing to stay on their feet. Race mouthed a little desperately at Spot's shoulder, tasting the sweat there. His caressing hand bumped the ridges of numerous scars. There was the cut from a knife fight with Chubby from Queens. Here on his waist, pale white lines where the skin once tasted a whip. The circle over his heart that looked like someone had pressed an iron to it and held down. Racetrack touched each of them like talisman as they rutted. With no finesse, they reached down and created a tunnel with their joined hands, pressing their heated flesh together. Spot came first, shuddering and catching the mess on his hand. He smeared on the wall, using his clean hand to wrap around Race's cock. He muffled Race's cries by pressing their mouths together in a long biting kiss.

After, they leaned against each other, breath heaving. Race fished in his pockets and found a handkerchief, still damp from the rain. He took each of Spot's hands in his and wiped them off thoroughly. Then he set up about righting the disarrayed clothing and the disheveled blond hair. Silently, Spot returned the favor, running his hand through Race's hair until it settled and buttoning up his shirt. Then he leaned in for a last kiss. Spent, this one was lighter, sweeter. When they parted, they both jammed their hats back on and walked back onto the street.

"There's a place that does good soup." Race pointed. "Might get some bread too."

"Better be butter with that considering the cheating."

"I ain't a cheater!" Race protested.

"Hey, there's my man!" A loud voice boomed out.

"Hi, Jack." Race's eyes darted over to Spot, but he was back to his usual blank expression. "What're you doing here?"

"Lookin'gfor you." Jack shifted uneasily. Not a good sign. Jack only got jumpy when there was problems. "Can we talk a minute? Hey, Spot."

"Jackey-boy." Casually, Spot threw his cane over his shoulder and held out his hand. "Gimme the coins, I'll get the grub while you two girls talk it out."

"Here." Fumbling, Race pressed a quarter into his hand. "Get the butter." He turned to Jack. "Speak ta me."

"Not in the street." Jack mumbled and hustled him to the alley he has just left. Race hoped Jack wouldn't look to closely at the wall.

"What's wrong?" He demanded.

"Sarah's in jail."

"Sarah?" Race whistled. "What happened?"

"She punched a cop at one of them women's rights things."

"She's got balls." He shook his head. "So you gonna bust her out?"

"No, David said it wouldn't help cause they know where she lives. The lawyer says she'll get off light cause she's a young lady and ain't got nothing else on her record. He's visting her right now."

"That's real good, Jack. So whaddyah need me for?"

"Race...we're friends, right? Been friends a long time."

"Sure, Jack. Long as I can remember practically." Actually, he was sure he was older than Jack and had definitely been a newsie longer. And he could remember Jack showing up the first time, dirty, angry and rough from the streets.

"What if I said I might tell you something that might make you wanna kill me?"

"Jesus, Jack, this ain't about that scab thing is it? We all get it now."

"No, no, it ain't." Jack was pacing. "Look I..." He huffed. "It's just.. Me and..."

"I got a dinner to eat if this is gonna take much longer Jack." Race crossed his arms. "Anyway, it can't be worse than any of the other things you done."

"That's just it. It's better than everything else I done. Least...it should be. But no one else will think so."

"You got me real confused now."

"Can you just promise me somthing?"

"What, Jack?"

"If...even if you want to run me outta town once I tell you, can you promise me you won't tell the others?"

"Yeah, I promise." His thoughts were drifting to his cooling bowl of soup and the doubtlessly irritated Spot.

"Right." Jack stopped pacing, facing him. "Davey and me, we're...well I guess we're like...lovers now."

It felt as if someone had punched him the stomach. Race held his arms tightly to his chest, staring into Jack's earnest face. It all made a terrible kind of sense. If he was honest, Race would have admitted that when Jack hit off so easily with David it had hurt some. He and Jack had always been as close as any of the newsies. He was the one that passed around what Cowboy had said, what fights he'd won, gave him a name. They'd shared cigarettes and shared a bed in the dead cold of winter. Then David had come and all that had changed in an instant. And David did things Race could only dream of doing. He made Jack listen. He didn't take any of Jack's teasing or bluff. Instead, from that first moment, he had treated him as an equal and assumed he'd be treated the same.

Race had accepted it after a while and then, slowly, even been glad of it. Especially when Spot and he had caught each other's eyes and...damnit. He clenched his fists against his chest, trying to ignore the impatient face of his best friend. Jack was nearly quivering, standing as if prepared to take a punch. So Jack was a pervert. Fine. So was Race. Except Race had had the good sense never to say anything about it. And damn the soup smelled good. Except there should be no soup smell out here.

He turned to see Spot, sitting on top of a garbage can, peacefully sipping his bowl.

"Don't keep the man in suspense." Spot said when he finally caught Race's eye. "Tell me he's scum. Tell him he's perverted and hellfire's gonna rain down on his head."

"Spot..." Race pleaded.

"Go on." He waved an imperious hand. "Ain't you supposed to be good at bluffing?"

"What the hell, Spot?" Barked Jack. "Thought this was a private conversation."

"Hey, I'm just enjoying my dinner. Don't let me stop you."

Desperately, Race searched Spot's face for any hint of what he was really trying to say. What he wanted to hear Race say. But as always, Spot's face gave nothing away. Even that first time they'd found a dark corner together, he'd been as still and unreadable as stone. It had taken most of Race's very limited courage to close the distance between them.

"Jack..why are you telling me this?" He asked, instead. "Why didn't you just keep it a secret?"

"Because it shouldn't be a secret." Jack lit up as if he hadn't expected a chance to plead his case. Hell, if Spot hadn't been there he wouldn't have. "If Davey was a girl, no one would care. You'd all be pounding me on the back for it. Guess I think that it shouldn't matter. And you’re my best friend, Race. If I can't tell you... this whole plan ain't gonna work at all."

"What plan?" Spot asked.

"We don't wanna hide nothin'. And we don't think anyone should." Jack straightened up, the jitters ceasing. "Sarah just wants women to be able vote, I say why not? Let 'em be equal. Equal right to starve or not like they already got. And I wanna be equal too."

"Oh Jack." Race buried his head in his hands. Grisly visions paraded behind his eyes. There were angry people in the world and Jack was so very good at making them angrier. Especially when he was on his own. And what good was David in a fight? Apparently, Spot was thinking the same thing because he said:

"Seems to me, gambling man, that you gotta call your bet now. Who you gonna put it on? Jack or the rest of the world?"

"Well." He lifted his head up. Spot and Jack were both staring at him now. Suddenly inspired, he said, "I ain't never won a bet against him. But I gotta say, plan like that. You better have Spot Conlon on your side."

"Yeah, you would have too." Spot's cane dipped to the ground and he moved to lean against the wall next to Race.

"All right." Race said in a rush. "All right, Jack, I'm in."

"You're in." Jack repeated flatly. "I didn't ask you to join up or nothing. It's not like that."

Impulsively, Race put his arm around Spot's shoulder and drew him close. Shockingly, Spot actually leaned against him a little. "It is like that, Jack. Just like that."

It took a few seconds for it to register, but when it did, Jack's smile was nearly worth it.

"Davey said we probably weren't the only ones, but I swear I didn't believe 'em!" He laughed.

"There are others." Spot said quietly. "I can spread the word, but you gotta have a plan first."

Race turned to him, stunned for the second time that evening. "How..."

"Don't tell me you don't know a few? Maybe you don't talk about it. Maybe it ain't something you really know, but if you think on it..."

It occurred to Race that he'd caught a few eyes over the years. Flashes of recognition at unexpected moments.

"Don't say nuthin' yet. You know Davey's the planner and he's fussed with his sister now. Soon though." Jack was on him in a flash, pulling Race into a hug, then releasing him before he had time to return it. "I'll see yah on the line in the morning."

Without further adieu, Jack was off and running, disappearing down the street.

"Here." Spot thrust the bowl of soup into his hands, then yanked it back when Race's hands shook too much to hold it steady. "Sit down for fuck's sake, idiot."

Race sat. Spot settled next to him. Carefully, he broke off a hunk of bread and dipped it into the bowl before handing it to Race.

"Try that."

Obediently, Race ate it. The soup moistened the slightly stale bread and it all went down easy.

"Why?" He asked when the last bit of bread and most of the soup was gone.

"S'part of who I am." Spot's face was in shadows, but Racetrack made out a hint of sadness.

"You could just...choose girls."

"No. I can't. Can you?"

"No." Race said, thinking of all the nights he'd laid alone in one of the bunks and dreamed about the world being different. He'd never thought about trying to change himself.

"Think on this." Spot edged closer. "It don't have to be all dark alleys and abandoned buildings. We ain't hiders, me and you."

"No." Race said and he could feel his resolve, among other things, harden. "We ain't."

"C'mon. Think I'll stay in Manhattan tonight." Spot urged him up. "Got a squat probably needs tending."

"Where do you find these places?" Race asked dazed, following him out of habit. Anywhere he went, Spot always had a bolt hole of some kind. A basement with a broken window, an apartment building ruined by a fire and once, very memorably, a de-consecrated church.

"Talent." Spot grinned. "I got lots of talent."

Spot's squat this time turned out to be little more that a pile of old burlap sacks under rotten tenement stairs. It was a roof though and a breeze coming through the slats kept it cool enough.

"Pretty close to the lodging house." Race observed than wish he hadn't said anything when Spot's eyes went cold.

"Yeah, well. Had to keep an eye on what the Manhattan boys were up to, didn't I? You can go on home."

"Not tonight." Race said, hoping the desperation didn't show. The thought of going back and putting on a face for the boys was too much to bear.

"No talking." Spot said firmly. "I got thinking to do. And then sleeping."

Obediently, Race settled down on the sacks and started sorting through his deck. Spot, only a foot away, could have been on the moon. He sat unnaturally still, eyes barely open and hands splayed on this knees. It was more than a little spooky, but it was also just...Spot. He could do that at a drop of the hat. So Race stayed quiet, practicing sleight of hand tricks he'd learned off street magicians. The cards flipped, slid, tumbled. Soundlessly, he went through everything he knew then did it again. It kept his fingers nimble and his mind carefully blank. The darkness grew heavier with only the distant flicker of gas lights breaking through.

And then all in one moment, Spot was back. He didn't move and his breathing didn't change, but Race felt his return nonetheless.

"Where do you go?" He asked.

"One night, I'll show you. C'mon, put those things away and get some sleep."

Spot always slept the same way. This was coveted knowledge to Race as he doubted many people had ever seen him so much as doze. He slept on his right side, one hand curled around his cane, the other around the handle of a knife under his pillow. The few times they had shared a bed, Race had to tuck himself around this configuration and usually it was a pain. Tonight, it was comforting. Tonight, he needed to know that Spot wouldn't allow any harm to come to either of them. With care, he tucked himself against Spot's back and lay one cautious hand on his hip. Sharp bone met his vague caress.

"Good night." Race muttered into the fine hairs of Spot's neck.

"In the morning, you're getting a knife." And on that disturbing thought, Spot fell into an instant sleep.

Race shifted and sighed, finally settling into an uneasy doze.

He dreamed of his mother. She was surrounded by his multitude of siblings, drowning in crying children. She tried to speak to him, but he couldn't hear her over the roar.

When he woke up, Spot was already on his feet. For a moment, Race could make out the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

"G'morning." Race yawned. "Time is it?"

"Early. Got enough time to get back to Brooklyn, before the bells." He kneeled and pressed something cold into Race's hand. "Got this for you. Things are gonna get some dangerous. You need me, just whistle."

"Spot.." Blearily, he reached for him. "How would you hear me from Brooklyn?"

"I got ways." Spot leaned down and ghosted a kiss on his cheek. "Try not to stab yourself. Punch Jack if he gets too outta hand."

With that last warning, he loped out of their hiding spot. By the time Race struggled upright and out, Spot was long gone. He stared at the knife. It wasn't the great gleaming blade that Spot kept and Race was sure that if Spot was keeping another weapon on him, he would have felt it. It was probably best not to wonder when and how Spot had gotten a hold of it. After all, it was only a battered old switch blade. When he thumbed it, a sharp short blade sprang out. Someone had kept it in good repair. Closing it, Race tucked it gently in his pocket. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had given him a present.

The rain had cooled the city. The short walk to the gates was pleasant and gave him too much time to think. One of his hands kept straying back to his pocket, tracing the outline of the knife. He tried to imagine using it and failed. Soaking someone was just good fun and games. Stabbing was permanent and bloody. Then again, Spot wouldn't have given it to him unless he was sure he would need it. Jack's words came back to him, "We're lovers." He'd said like it was natural. Like they were any fancy courting couple walking the lanes of Central Park, whispering in each other's ears.

He tried to fit the word lover in with Spot and had to smother a laugh. The thought of Spot canoodling with anyone was impossible. Yet, they were something to each other. Weren't they? If they weren't, Spot wouldn't have encouraged him to team up with Jack. So maybe Spot did think of him that way. Most of the time, Race was sure Spot was just looking for a free meal and a handjob. But last night, he'd been kind, nearly gentle to him.

"Looks like yah didn't drown after all." Blink commented, sauntering up. "Was wondering where you got to last night."

"Oh, here and there." He grinned. "Stayed dry enough."

"Gonna have to sell double to make up for yesterday." Blink sighed, shaking his head. "What about you?"

"Dunno." He pulled out the leather bag he used as a wallet and emptied the meager contents into his hand. There was a quarter shining on top that he couldn't account for. Had he miscounted yesterday? The alternative, that Spot had given it back like a reverse pickpocket, was too bizarre to contemplate. "Huh. Nah. I'll just get my usual bundle. Musta won more than I thought yesterday."

The other boys started trickling in and the bells peeled out over the square. Jostling into line, Race searched the crowd. When he found his quarry, he sidled in front of him.

"Hey, Mouth." He said, testing the waters. David looked terrible. There were dark circles under his eyes and his usually neat shirt was wrinkled and half unbuttoned. "Heard about Sarah. Sorry."

"She's all right." David gave him a weak smile. "Thanks."

"Talked with Jack last night." He said casually.

"Oh?" David asked through a yawn, then it registered and his eyes went wide. "Oh! And...you're not punching me in the face."

"No, Davey, I ain't." Race eyed the crowd. "Cowboy really didn't say nothin' to you?"

"Not his fault." David assured him. "We haven't seen each other since last night. I stayed at the jail, he went back to the apartment to mind Les and take care of my mother."

"So he ain't selling today?"

"I'm always selling." Jack bounded up, throwing an arm over David's shoulder. They beamed at each other, much as they did every morning. Race wondered how he'd missed it, really. "Les was looking peaky, so your Ma kept him home."

"Race was saying that you and he had a talk last night."

"Yeah, we did." Jack raised an eyebrow at Race. "You still in?"

"Said I was, didn't I?" He shifted uncomfortably.

"In?" David looked bewildered between the two of them.

"Hey Race, think you'll sell out by two or three?" Jack prompted.

"Yeah, sure."

"Good. Davey's never seen a horse race. Get us a good tip this time, eh?"

"Yeah, Jack. Whatever you say." Because really, when push comes to shove, he usually did what Jack asked.

The solitary walk to the track was Race's favorite time of day. He'd sell a few papers as he walked, but mostly it was quiet. Normal people were just getting out of bed and making breakfast. Good food smells overpowered last night's garbage and no one had been awake long enough to have a bad day. He'd cadge a cup of coffee off one of the more sympathetic vendors and take his sweet time. No one was ever at the track before nine.

Today, he wished he'd asked one of the younger boys to join him. They would have come readily and only cut into his pay a little. The chatter would have kept him distracted. When he cut through Brooklyn, he was half expecting Spot. They met like that sometimes, but not today. He made it all the way there without seeing one newsie.

He loitered outside the track. One of the cashiers he was friendly with called him over.

"Hey, Roger."

"Hey, Racetrack. Look here, remember that fussbucket Tilly-on-Blue? He ran real good yesterday. Came up from behind."

"Probably a fluke." Race thought on it. "Aw, hell. He running today?"

"Would I tell you otherwise? Wish I could lay my own money on it." Roger pulled a face.

"Yeah, that'd sure be nice for yah." Race raised an eyebrow

"Mhm." Sliding Race the form for the day, Roger lightly circled the right race. Underneath was fifty cents that Race neatly palmed to take to another teller window. "Better weather."

"Buy a pap?" Race offered.

"Nah. The world's doomed every day in those damn things." Roger yawned. "See yah later."

"Later, Roger."

As the usuals staggered in, they picked up their papers at the front. Sales were brisk enough that he felt entitled to a bit of lunch. He devoured a hot dog without stopping his sales pitch. The track grew nosier until he was just one hollering voice among the crowd. Just as the church bells called three, a drunk over paid him for his last paper.

He ducked into inside, taking his usual seat far up in the stands. He hadn't laid money on the first few runs, but it got the juices up just watching. When it came up to Tilly's run, he was already on his feet, eyes wide and bright. When the announcer called out ' Tilly-on-Blue in stall 5!' He yelped and waved his hat.

Race had seen older gamblers looking haggard and worn, cursing and groaning their way through wins and losses alike. He planned on quitting if that ever happened to him.. He gambled because it was plain old fashioned fun.

"Run!" He yelled as the gates slammed open. Tilly-on-Blue took his sweet time out of the gate and Race bit his lips. "Move it, old boy! There's a rush!"

The horse moved along idly, barely holding on at third to last. He shook his head, wishing he'd remember that Roger never actually saw the races, only heard the noise.

"This ain't a stroll in the park!" He shouted. A flash of red caught his eye and he waved at Jack to head over. "GO!"

And just like that, the damn horse went. Tilly-on-Blue was pounding on the earth like he was being chased by a pack of angry wolves. He thundered past the lead horse like it was standing still.

"Go you big beautiful bastard!" Race was laughing, already calculating his winnings minus Roger's cut.

"Oh my god..." He heard David say. That was all the warning he had before the world went wrong.

Tilly-On-Blue's hooves burst into flames, licking up his churning legs. His back rippled, sending jockey and saddle flying. In one tremendous shudder, it's skin ripped open, flames leaping out of every tear. All the tack and leather disintegrated and burst into flame.

Frantically, Race looked around for some explanation. Everyone else in the stands was talking normally, not even looking up. The thrown jockey got up and wandered off as though nothing had happened. Only Jack and David were open mouthed next to him.

"You guys see that, right?" Race pleaded.

"Yeah." Jack gulped. "We see it."

The horse, really barely a horse any more, turned it's head to the stands and Race could feel it's eyes on him. They were penetrating him, tearing him up. It turned it's impossible body and started to gallop.

"Oh, shit." He whispered.

"We need to run now." David said.

They fled through the stadium and out onto the street. Ghostly hooves clattered behind them.

"The river!" Jack yelled.

They turned as one towards the relative safety of water. But it was too late. Heat blasted over the back of Race's shirt and he stumbled. The horse stopped, looming over him. Up close, the horror intensified. Where it's skin had split open, thick black ooze dripped. It turned it's head, leveling one pulsing red eye at him. When it opened it's mouth, a voice like a thousand flies echoed in his ears.

"This hear from the Harbinger." It said. "Tell Nemamiah that the Dreaming is broken."

"Who?" Race asked gasping, smoke filled his lungs.

"Tell him that I did my best. The guardians are returning."

The terrible jagged maw of the beast descended and the heat was blistering. Race cried out, sure that he was going to be burned alive. A long tongue snaked out of the beast's mouth.

"No!" Race tried to back away, but he couldn't see, eyes blinded with the blaze. The terrible tongue touched his shoulder and he screamed in agony.

"Tell Nemamiah I return this to him. The time has come for him to rise again."

The pain splintered down to the bone and he could feel the tears leaking out his eyes burned dry before they reached the ground. He knew he was going to die. Accepted it and braced for it. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the pain.

"Can you carry him?" He heard someone say. Then strong, familiar arms were around him, bearing him up.

"...lodging house....doctor" Came the fracture of a voice.

He struggled to speak, his whole throat felt charred and raw. "Spot." He choked.

"Race?" The arms around him tightened and he winced. "Hold on man."

"Brooklyn is closer." David, he identified. He had always liked David.

Time passed and he slid in and out of wakefulness. He could hear his friends talking, but he couldn't make sense of the words. Everything hurt. Every time Jack moved to rearrange him a little, make him easier to carry, it was an agony.

"M'gonna put you down." He heard and braced himself for more pain. A mattress greeted his sore body and enveloped it.

Then, most blessedly, there was a cool hand on his forehead. A wet washcloth moved over him wiping away the pain.

"What message?" Someone asked him.

"I.." He took in a deep breath, the words were seared into his mind though they made little sense to him. "The Dreaming is broken. Guardians returning. It's time to go back and rise."

"Sleep." He was told.

He didn't dream.


	5. Carrion Feeder

The visiting room of the women's jail contained two small tables and four wobbling chairs. David sat precariously in, hat in hands while Sarah settled into another. She was wearing a regulation plain smock and her long hair was pinned up severely. She looked like a goddess. Once annoying older sister, object of jealousy and giver of pinches, now a purveyor of justice. Also, David reasoned, she was in jail. If she wanted to kill him, she would have to wait until she was out on parole in a month.

"Hello, brother mine." She smiled. "You look awful."

"I've had a long week."

"Tell me about it."

Every night for the past two weeks, Jack and I have shared dreams and learned to fight with swords and words, he thought. During the day we keep seeing impossible monsters out of the corners of our eyes. One of my friends was nearly burned alive by something only we could see.

"There's something I have to tell you." He cleared his throat. "And, maybe, after I tell you, you won't want to see me again. So I want you to know that no matter what I love you and I'll be there for you if you need me."

"All right." She leaned forward, seemingly serene. A single week in prison had taught her calm.

"Jack and I...we're..." He swallowed, still unsettled about the words. "We're....together. Like, like that."

"Like that?" She raised a single eyebrow. "David. Are you kissing Jack?"

"Yes." He felt his face blaze, but he refused to look away. "And it isn't wrong."

"No." She said softly.

"I'm sorry, but I won't stop. I love him." He swallowed hard. "And we'll do what it takes to make the world understand that."

Just as soon as the world stopped acting so insane.

"David." She reached across the table and took his hand. "Mom and Dad..."

"They'll probably throw me out once they know. You'll be back to being a regular golden child in comparison."

"No." She said again. "I'll help you."

"You..but..." He startled. "Sarah, you realize that I'm...I'm a queer."

"You're my brother." She said serenely. "Jack and you have always fit together like puzzle pieces."

"How can you just sit there..." He waved his free hand at her. "This is huge."

"Oh, it's only that since I've been here..." Her eyes shined brightly. "I've been having such beautiful dreams."

"What kind of dreams?" His grip on her hand tightened.

"When the time comes, I'll be ready." She assured him. "Tell Jack that I love him and that you two will walk in the light of Nemamiah."

There was a clink of the doors as the guards made ready to take her back to her cell.

"What did you see? Who told you?" He asked her. The guards walked quickly, pulling her out of her chair.

"I love you, David." She smiled at him. "We'll talk again before it's over."

"Sarah!" He called out, but she was gone, walking placidly back to her cell.

Slamming down his chair he allowed the guards to check him over again before ejecting him out into the street where Jack waited.

"How'd it go?" He asked, stubbing out a cigarette and checking the street, before leaning down to kiss him.

"Mmm." David said, then pulled away. "Apparently she's seen us walk in the light of Nemamiah and therefore, it's fine that we're perverts."

"Shit." Jack jammed his hat back on his head. "Her too?"

"You should have seen her." He started walking, blindly towards home. "It was like...she's been so different. Now I know why, I guess. She said to tell you that she loves you."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I think she meant it in a sisterly way." David rubbed his face. "Though, honestly? I'm not sure. I don't know what you do, Jack, but the Jacobs fall before you."

"Guess was 'bout time someone did." He joked, throwing an arm over David's shoulder. "C'mon, we got paps to sell."

They sold a swath across Manhattan, dumping the last right before they reached the bridge. The thugs at the bridge let them by without hassle. Fink was waiting for them.

"You're late." He giggled, high pitched and grating. "I've been waiting an hour."

"Like you got anything better to do." Jack snorted. "Don't worry, this is the last day we'll be troubling you."

They followed him down the winding path to the back of the abandoned warehouse. Here the door was made of a more solid material and Fink made them turn their backs while he fiddled with the lock.

"Five left, 15 right and 27 left." Jack said under his breath.

"Show off." David winked at him. The tumbler finally agreed with Jack and fell into Fink's hand.

"All right, he's all yours. Good riddance." Fink watched them both carefully as they entered into the dark room that had once been a dock master's office.

When they'd brought Race's burnt and blistered body through Brooklyn, it had only taken minutes before one of Spot's boys appeared at their side and led them here. There had already been a mattress and a pile of moth eaten blankets on the floor. They'd waited a feverish fifteen minutes at Race's side whispering assurances. The burns weren't as severe as they had looked when they first picked him off the ground. To an unknowing eye it looked like he had fallen asleep in the sun after someone had ripped up his shirt. David had rubbed at Jack's arms which trembled and ached with the effort of carrying his wounded friend so far.

When Spot arrived, a serious looking older boy in tow, he threw them out and told them to come back later if they wanted a visit. They'd returned every day like clockwork. Race was always alone, at first still lost in delirium, but eventually lucid and increasingly bored. Yesterday, he had made it very clear that he wanted to go home.

"Hey boys." Race grinned at them, rising from what had been his sickbed. "Come to spring me?"

"Got your luggage all packed?" Jack asked.

"Oh yeah." Laughing, Race picked up a neatly tied bundle that contained his spare pair of pants and a few shirts. "Gonna carry it for me Jackey-boy?"

"He is an invalid." David said solemnly.

"Aw shut up." Jack plucked at one of Race's suspenders. "Let's get outta here before Fink decides to lock us all in."

"Blessed be." Race sauntered out the door and took in a deep breath of air. Then looked nervously around him, tense and waiting for an attack. David sent Jack a look. Nodding, Jack dropped a casual arm over Race's shoulder.

"Where's Spot?" Asked David, searching for a distraction.

"Sellin' paps." Race rolled his eyes, but didn't throw off Jack's arm as they walked to the bridge. "Man's gotta make a living."

"Don't think I've seen 'em since we dropped you off." Jack mused as if the thought had just occurred to him. As if he and David hadn't left every night, wondering.

A low, mournful whistle pierced the air and Race grinned.

"About to be fixed." He assured them.

When they reached the edge of the bridge, Spot swung down from behind one of the pillars.

"Jackey-boy and his mouthy candlestick." He sang out. "And the amazing peeling man."

"Hey!" The remaining pink patches of his burns were still flaking up.

"What can we do you for, Spot?" Jack asked.

"Figured that you might need an escort home, all things being what they is." Spot looked at the three of them and shook his head. "Sorry sight."

"We can protect ourselves." David raised his chin.

"Yeah, cause you did such an amazing job last time." Spot rolled his eyes.

"Oh yeah and how would you have run off a flaming horse?" Jack took a step forward, then halted when Race stepped on his foot. "Ow!"

"If you fellas are done, I'd like to get home before dark." Race looked up at the sun pointedly.

"We got a place for you to kip." Jack muttered to Spot.

"Yeah, fine."

They walked across the bridge, their pace quickened by Race's warning. It wasn't that that things were any better during the day, but at least with sun up you could see what you were dealing with. Nothing had yet to appear as solidly as the Harbringer had, but they could all feel that it was only a matter of time.

"My sister has been dreaming." David blurted when they were far enough away from the Brooklyn guards. "She said Jack and I would walk in the light of Nemamiah."

"Nemamiah..." Race mumbled, looking lost. In his fevered first days, he had whispered the name over and over, but whatever had been imparted to him, seemed to have slipped away.

"I looked it up at the library, but I couldn't find anything." David continued. "It sounds almost familiar, but I think that's because I've heard it so many times the past two weeks."

Something detached from the shadows and set to following them.

"Walk faster." Spot said grimly.

Conversation ceased. They stayed as close to the center of the road as they could. A block away from the lodging house, something started to keep pace with David. It had the head of crow and a loose limbed body made of inky rubber.

"You have power...." It rasped. "Why do you run?"

David ignored it, pressing against Jack.

"Take up your sharp bladesss..." The thing reached for him. "Help usssss...."

"Don't touch him." Jack snapped, ignoring the strange looks from pedestrians.

"Your time is coming!" The crow screamed and lifted itself into the air, circling them. "Stand and fight, guardians!"

"Not yet." Jack said firmly. "We're busy. Buzz off."

The crow flew in lazy circles around them until they reached the relative safety of the lodging house. Thus far, nothing had ventured inside. Kloppman said nothing about their drawn faces, only gave Race a pat on the back. It was empty upstairs, still a few minutes from sundown.

Spot immediately checked all the corners of the room, than drew the curtains over the few dirty window panes.

"Fuck." Race collapsed in his bunk, burying his face in his pillow. "Fuck all of this shit man. What the hell is going on?"

David glanced over at Jack who gave him a slight nod.

"We have a theory, but...it's pretty weird."

"Anything!" Race turned over, staring at them. "Lay it on me."

Quietly, Spot settled on the foot of Race's bunk as still as a statue.

"Look...we told you about Jack and I, but not how it started..." He launched in to the story, Jack occasionally interrupting to correct him or add in something he'd noticed. It was strange, listening to himself talk about it. For a while, he could pretend it had all happened to someone else. "And bascially, we've been asking them both when we can about this stuff. I don't think they really understand either, except that somethings gone really really wrong with the place we go when we dream. It's probably how they were able to come to us at all. Something pierced whatever it is that separates the real world from that place. Uh...that's it."

His audience was silent. In fact, David wasn't entirely sure that Spot hadn't fallen asleep. The boy was still upright and eyes mostly open, but looked very faraway. Race was folded up on the bed, staring at something beyond David's shoulder.

"So why can we see it?" Race asked finally. "Why us and not no one else?"

"We don't know that no one else can." David pointed out. "We just haven't met them yet."

"Maybe it's just us queers." Jack rubbed the back of his neck.

"Maybe we're supposed to do something about it." Race brought his hand to his collarbone, pressing his hand flat. "That crow-thing asked for help."

"What do yah think, Spot?" Jack asked.

"I think we should change the subject. I hear footsteps."

Sure enough, a gaggle of the smaller newsies were spilling up the stairs laughing and shoving at each other. They froze when they saw Spot.

"Hello boys." He drawled.

"Hey Spot." Boots said, sounding a little choked.

"What? No one says hello to me?" Race asked, looking hurt.

"You're back!" Sniffles shouted. "Hey guys, look! It's Racetrack!"

A barrage of small bodies barrelled onto the bed, piling on top of him. Apparently, love of their friend overrode all fear of Spot. One of them accidentally kicked the Brooklynite in the arm and David sucked in a breath of concern, but Spot just shrugged and stood up. There was even a hint of a smile on his face.

"I didn't realize he was that popular." David said, moving to lean against a bunk with Jack.

"Yeah." Jack smiled fondly at the now nearly invisible boy. "He'll steal yah blind if your dumb enough to play with 'em, but he always spreads the winnings around. Kids know a sucker when they see one."

By the time the younger boys had cleared off to get ready for bed, the older crew was trickling in and there was no space left to talk. Racetrack was at the center of everyone's attention. Everyone wanted to sit with him and make sure he was all right. The story passed around was that someone had gotten the jump on him and left him unconscious in the sun. No one questioned it. They teased him about the beating, rough housed with him when it was clear he wasn't in too much pain and mostly expressed their boyish delight that he'd returned to the fold.

Tense, David wished they'd all go to sleep so they could continue the conversation they'd started earlier. Jack was moving among the boys himself, touching base, searching for information. By the time everyone was mostly in their own beds, Racetrack had fallen asleep. Spot returned to his place at the end of the bed, sitting up as if he intended to stay that way for the rest of the night. He didn't respond to anyone talking to him, so David soon gave it up for a lost cause.

"Staying Davey?" Jack breathed in his ear. David shivered. "You can share my bunk."

"We don't...we can't..." He protested, but it was already dark outside and thought of leaving was too frightening. "Yes."

The bed wasn't much broader than the one David shared with Les at home. All around them, boys were falling into their beds though quiet chatter still drifted. No one seemed to notice or care that David climbed up into Cowboy's bed.

"No free beds." Jack explained quietly. "We all double up sometimes, more in the winter, but sometimes summer too."

The last of the lights went out and it was tempting in the darkness to act like they were alone, but David could hear the other boys breathing. Under the cover of shifting restlessly, Jack snaked a hand over David's waist, his fingers smoothing over his stomach.

"Not here." David hissed.

"No." Jack agreed, pressing the faintest kiss to his shoulder. "See you there."

The day caught up with David quickly and he fell asleep with Jack's breath ghosting on the back of his neck.

When he woke, it was in the marble hall to the sound of swords clanging. Jack and Alexander were standing in the middle of the room taking swipes at each other. Alexander was laughing, taunting Jack, but the boy seemed to be enjoying it, so David left them alone. Taking up a bow and quiver, he practiced his shooting for a while. When that grew tiring, he drifted to the messy pile of equipment, scrolls and pillows where Hephaestion lay ensconced.

"You should join them." Drawled Hephaestion, gesturing to the dueling pair. "Or have you improved your sword fighting in daylight?"

"No." David huffed, settling down next to him. He chose a fat pillow and stretched out on his stomach. "And maybe I will. It's been a long day."

"More of the troubles?"

"Yes. All over the place."

"And your friend, Racetrack, how does he fair?"

"He's nearly recovered." David smiled. Hephaestion and he got along unreasonably well. Where Jack and Alexander were nearly always at each other's throats, competing and showing off, David and Hephaestion talked easily. Getting advice from an older man was comforting for him. They watched companionably as the other two increased their attacks with renewed vigor, clearly aware of their audience.

"Your Jack has improved." Hephaestion pointed out. "At least one of you is good with the blade."

"He's more aggressive than I am. I think it comes naturally." David watched admiringly as Jack dodged a blow. "He never seems afraid."

"When he is most strong that is when you know he is crumbling." Hephaestion said gently. "No man is that strong on his own."

"If you say so."

"You look troubled."

"No..it's just. I feel stupid about it. It's so selfish. We're in the middle of something we can't understand, this sprawling scary puzzle and I should be doing everything I can to figure it out. Instead, I'm trying to figure out how to ask you about sex." He blurted out. "I mean, I want to do something to help with what's going on, but I don't even know how to start. And Jack's right there, next to me all the time and I know that there's more to this than kissing, but we never have any time to figure it out. Even if we did, I have no idea what we're supposed to do."

"What did you want to ask me?" Asked Hephaestion, clearly amused. "We have time here and I have no more answers for you about what is coming. We may as well talk of pleasant things, at least for this night."

"I want to know what men do together." David admitted, a little horrified by his own boldness. "What I can do to make him happy."

"Ah, I do not want to give everything away." There was a secret smile on Hephaestion's face. "Half the joy is in the learning. But I think you will find that as always, your most powerful tool is your mouth."

"Oh." David flushed, trying to imagine what was being intimated. "I can...I can see that."

"And I will warn you that if you ever decide to use penetration that you find something to ease the way. It can be painful and the first dozen or so time can be difficult."

"Penetration?" David blanched. He thought about the dirtiest whispers he'd heard in school, the kinds of things no one really knew anything about.

"Has he rested his hand like this?" Hephaestion reached over and delicately cupped David's backside.

"No." David gulped.

"Then you know that it is quite sensitive. Imagine what that kind feeling can do if...." Suggestively, he pressed his fingers forward.

"Oh...." David's eyes closed. He could imagine it. In fact, now he couldn't stop imagining it.

"Ah. We've gained attention." Hephaestion withdrew his hand. "My apologies."

"David!" Jack's legs appeared on front of him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'll show you later." He promised, standing up. "For now, you'd better show me how to handle that sword before I get us both killed."

"Wait just a second-" Jack started, but David caught him up in a long hard kiss.

"I promise, it was for a good cause." He reached down and grabbed a practice sword. "Show me."

There was something almost unbearably erotic about sword fighting with Jack. Already sweating and breathing hard from his practice with Alexander, Jack looked like he could take on the world. Their swords flickered about each other, suggestive and testing. David held his crouch, circling him in their dance. It was obvious that Jack had the upper hand from the beginning, but he never pressed his advantage. Instead he would feint, testing him, showing him his weak spots and than invite him to do the same. They would pace around each other and in the curious liquid time of the dreaming world, they could go on nearly forever.

Finally, when the tension grew too great to bear, Jack disarmed him in one easy move that pressed their bodies together. He leaned down capturing David's lips on his own. He pulled back to look down at him seriously.

"You're mine." Jack growled, wrapping one hand around his waist. "No one touches you, but me."

"Yes, Jack." David said solemnly. "As long as you know that it goes both ways. I own you."

The kiss was nearly savage; strong enough that they both woke up uncomfortable in Jack's bunk, groans on their lips.


	6. Snake

They crept to the washroom for a modicum of privacy. Klopmann hadn't yet trundled up the stairs to wake everyone and most of the boys were still asleep. Jack drew David into a corner where he knew from long experience that he would see anyone coming long before they saw him.

"What was he telling you?" He whispered, then leaned in to kiss David before he could answer. In the predawn light, still half-asleep, David's lips begged for kisses.

"He was explaining." The answer came when their lips parted. "I wanted to know how to make it good between us."

"Already is good between us." There was barely a breath between them and Jack pressed in another kiss.

"It is. But not like this."

David sank from view and Jack watched him descend with confusion. He gasped when cold air met his skin where David had pulled down his pajama pants.

"Davey..." He choked.

"I...I don't know how to do this." David warned him, speaking into the skin of his thigh. "Tell me to stop if...."

Then his David, his naive angelic scholar, put his mouth on Jack's cock. The sight alone made him tremble though he could barely see. Jack reached down to grip his shoulders, trying not to move. It was hot and wet and moving. He could feel the tip of the pink tongue tracing the underside of the sensitive head and he convulsed.

"Fuck..." He barely caught the moan as it bubbled up in his throat. "Gonna...oh.."

He came with a shuttering breath, slumping against the wall. David made a harsh choking noise.

"All right?" Jack put a limp hand to his cheek.

"Yeah, it was just bitter. Surprised me."

"You surprised me." Nudging him upwards, Jack drew him closer and kissed him hard. "That was amazing. Think you drained me dry."

"I'll do better next time." David brushed his lips against Jack's neck. "I know what works now."

"I..I want to try it on you."

"Oh." David buried his head his neck. "Later, I..the idea was..."

Curious, Jack slid his hand down David's stomach and found a wet spot on his pajamas. Jack groaned.

"That's so...fuck Davey. You're impossibly hot." He kissed him hard. "If you were a girl, every guy in here would drop dead with envy."

"If I was a girl, you'd have to marry me to get that far." David laughed. "And maybe not even then."

Distantly a door slammed and they separated reluctantly.

"I'd marry you." Jack said quietly.

"You haven't even told me you loved me yet." David cuffed him gently. "One step at a time."

David started to walk away and in an instant, Jack reached out and grabbed his wrist, drawing him back. He kissed him fiercely and when he drew back, David looked dazed and happy. Jack's heart skittered.

"I love you." He tried to put as much of his heart into it as possible. "Always have."

"What always? Or since you tried to shiv me on a deal or when you knocked into me running away? Or since you kissed my sister for the first time?" David joked, but his eyes were bright.

"Hey." Jack tugged his wrist again. "Since before we met. But I only just realized it now."

"That doesn't make any sense." David chided, but he was smiling so hard it looked like his face might crack open, so Jack let it be.

"Go on get changed." He pushed at him.

Outside, the cacophony started as boys rolled out of bed with varying degrees of unhappy grumbles.

Jack washed his face, trying to cool himself off. The others buzzed noisily around him.

"Move over." Racetrack grunted at him, itching fanatically at his back.

"You'll get yourself bloody." Jack warned. He looked around and grabbed up a washcloth. "Look here."

He attacked the peeling patch. The nubby cloth flaked away the skin and Racetrack sagged against the sink.

"Let me get the front too." Jack laughed. "Or you'll scare off your customers."

"No, it's fine." Race reached for his shirt. "You don't have too."

Jack spun him, used to ignoring bravado. Then stopped dead. There was a raised white scar resting just below Race's collarbone.

"What is that?" He moved in closer, continuing to move the washcloth for appearance's sake. It looked a little like a snake eating it's own tail. Under Jack's gaze, it moved and he started back.

"I.." Race's hand moved up to cover it.

"Leave it." Spot said, coming up behind Jack. He handed Race a clean shirt. "You're selling with me today."

"Yeah." Race pulled the shirt on, buttoning it up, but not before Jack caught a glimpse of the thing again, undulating under his friend's skin.

"Something you're not telling us, Spot?"

"Maybe." He tipped his chin up. "I got paps to sell, Jackey-boy. Later."

"But..."

"Good bye, Jack." Race said laughing as they left.

He looked for David and found him dressed for the day. Quickly, he explained what he'd seen.

"Oh..I saw one of those." David closed his eyes. "Where did I..it was in a book. The..orange one about Alexander. It had a strange name...Ouroboros. It means immortality I think. A perfect being."

"What's it doing on Race? He's never had it before."

"I don't know." David frowned. "But it sounds like Spot does."

"You want to interrogate 'em?" Jack shook his head. "Only Spot knowing is like no one knowing."

"It’ll have to keep until tonight at least. Les is still with mom. I don't think she'll let him out of her sight until Sarah's home."

"There goes our easy money."

Getting the papers wasn't a problem, but their usual corner was occupied by a feathered, many eyed umbrella that opened menacingly when they came near.

"Shoo!" Jack waved his hands at it. "Get on then."

The umbrella bristled, spreading itself larger.

"Is he all right?" A passerby asked David.

"Oh, he's fine. Thought he saw a rat."

"This is my corner." Jack kicked at the thing, surprised when his foot made contact. The umbrella thing whimpered and rolled away. "Did you see that?"

"Yes."

"This is great! If we can touch 'em we don't have to be so afraid."

"Wrong." David's hand curled around Jack's arm, squeezing almost painfully hard. "If we can hurt them, they can hurt us like that thing did to Race. There's a lot more of them."

"Guess I'll just need a sword then."

"This isn't funny."

"Not laughing." Flexing his hand, Jack could practically feel the reassuring weight of the blade Alexander had given him. The smooth hilt filling his hand, the perfect balance of the blade like an extension of his arm. The edge was sharp enough to cut through marble, hard enough to withstand hundreds of pounds of weight and flexible enough to weave around a larger weapon's cumbersome attacks.

"I don't know what you're doing, but you should keep doing it." David said.

"What? Why?"

"Open your eyes."

Jack frowned, not remembering closing them in the first place. He opened his eyes to find his sword, looking a little insubstantial, resting at his feet. Slowly, he bent down to pick it up. In his hands, in flickered once and then became solid as it was in the dream world.

"Huh." He swung it around a little.

"Get your sharp blades." David said softly, reaching out to touch the hilt. "That's what that thing meant yesterday. With the dream world bleeding into ours, we can take things with us from there to here."

"Useful."

"How'd you do it? Can you do it again?"

"Dunno. I was just thinking about it. Could see it real clear in my head. Let me..." He pictured the leather sheath that he had practiced with many times. It was heavy enough to be weapon in and of itself. The sword fit into it neatly with no room to move. The leather was a dark blood red and lacked the suppleness of long use. The belt it hung from was heavily inlaid with whorls and knots. He could feel it snug around his waist.

"That's done it." David said in his ear.

"You too." Jack insisted, carefully hefting the sword and sliding it home. Men walking by stared at him and he realized that the gesture might look obscene without the accessories. "Not out here."

They ducked into one of their preferred alley ways. When they were sure they were alone, David closed his eyes. From the outside, it was even stranger. Jack watched as a hazy outline of a bow formed on the ground. It pulsed, filled in with color and started to visibly harden. When it looked finished, a quiver took shape. Arrows bristled out the top and the same pattern of Jack's belt spilled down it's sides.

"Wow." Jack picked up the quiver and drew the strap over David's head. Deftly, he lifted the bow and secured it next to the quiver.

He had never given much thought to religion. If there was a God he didn't seem to care much about Jack, so why should Jack care about him? But seeing David with his dark curls falling around his face, eyes dark and strong and his hands ready to reach for his primal tools, it stirred something deep in him. In the dingy alley, he was something powerful and ready to hunt. David shifted nervously under the scrutiny.

"I'm better with these than the sword." David said.

"We're in deep now, aren't we?"

"Thigh high in shit."

"Don't swear." Jack scolded, digging for a smile. "Your ma will kill me."

"Think she's the least of our worries now."

Selling newspapers was downright boring after that. Jack felt antsy and not up to his usual standards. They barely sold their lot before sundown.

"I have to at least check in at home." David said when they'd parted with their last paper. "She's probably worried sick."

"I don't want you staying on your own."

"If something bad is happening, I can't leave my family unprotected." David squared his shoulders.

"Then I'll stay tonight." Jack said firmly. "M'not leaving you again when there's danger."

"I wasn't in danger." David protested. "We know that now."

"Never again."

"Well, what about Race?"

"What about him?"

"Spot's probably gone home by now." David pointed out.

"Race can take care of himself." Jack said, but the thought gnawed at him. "He's at the lodging house."

"Is he?"

"Look, let's collect him up. I got money for extra food. Take him home to your ma. She knew he was sick and all."

"Jack...."

"You put it in my head, you deal with the consequences."

Which is how all three of them came to be sitting around David's kitchen table, his ma beaming at them like they were all her natural sons. Les chattered with everyone happily while Meyer divided the fat chicken they'd managed to acquire. Racetrack kept glancing at Jack and David's weapons despite their explanation on the way over. Luckily the rest of the Jacobs were apparently oblivious to the sword and bow.

"It's nice to have a full table again." Esther patted Race on the head, taking him by surprise. His expression was worth every moment of trying to suppress swearwords, Jack decided.

"Thanks, mom." David smiled at her. "Do you mind if Race and Jack sleep in Sarah's room tonight?"

"Of course not." She tousled David's curls until they stood up on end. Jack ducked his head, trying not to laugh. David still wore the quiver and his hair stood up like the arrows. "It will keep the dust off."

"Thank you, m'am." Race watched her warily. "I don't want to be any trouble."

"Of course not! I wanted David to bring you here as soon as I heard. You need to sleep in a real bed when you're sick." She turned on Les. "And you young man! Time for bed."

"Awww..."

"Don't argue with your mother." Meyer said gently.

The family bustled around the small apartment, making beds and washing their faces. Racetrack leaned across the table to look seriously at Jack.

"Is this...normal?"

"Yeah." Jack smiled at him. "Weird, huh?"

"They're like...scary nice." Race agreed. "No wonder David didn't know his ass from his elbow when he first showed."

"He knows about other stuff." Jack said defensively.

"Yeah, I know." Race rolled his eyes. "Just sayin'. They like you."

"What's not to like?" Jack grinned, but it faltered quickly. "They won't for long."

"You're not gonna tell 'em?"

"David wants to. We're waiting because Sarah said she'd help when she gets outta jail."

"Who would give this up?" Race shook his head. "I had a family like this..."

"He said...he said he'd choose me." Jack looked warily around the apartment, but no one paid them any mind. "I'm selfish. I'd take him away from here if I meant I got to keep him."

"Ah, Cowboy." Race wrinkled his nose. "Mushy ain't your style."

"Guess Spot ain't the mushy type."

"We're not...it ain't like that."

"Ain't like what? Looked pretty cozy to me, last few days."

Race shrugged. "We got an understanding is all."

"How long?"

"Maybe a couple a months. What's it to you?"

Jack sat back, stung.

"You're my best friend, Race." He pouted. "I can't want to know?"

"Can't tell you what I don't know."

Meyer returned to the table, asking about the union's progress and the conversation turned to other things. Soon Racetrack was yawning and Jack herded him into a small bedroom.

"We sharing?" Race asked.

"Yeah, take the window."

Jack hung the sword over one of the bedposts, before settled in, facing away from each other.

"Does it hurt?" Jack asked into the darkness.

"What?"

"That thing on your chest."

"It's...no."

"Does Spot know what it is?"

"Why would he?" Race shrugged. "We didn't talk about it or nothing. Just did our selling and then he went back over the river."

Sighing, Jack turned on his back and asked the question that had been weighing on him.

"Why him, Race?"

There was a long stiff silence and for a long time, Jack thought that Race wasn't going to answer.

"Because he let me." Race finally said.

Talk ceased and soon, Jack fell into an uneasy sleep.

Alexander was waiting for him.

"Something is wrong." The king told him. "You cannot stay here."

"I need to sleep." Jack looked around the marble room, everything seemed normal.

"You need to survive." Alexander growled. "I have felt tremblings in the earth."

"It's New York. There ain't no earthquakes here."

"There are!" David appeared at his side. "They're just too small to feel. Minor seismic activity."

"Know it all ." Jack reached down to squeeze his hand. "Alex here says we shouldn't stick around tonight."  
"What's Hephaestion say?" David looked around for his friend.

"He has gone scouting. I expect him here soon."

"Then let's wait until he comes back." David decided. "At least let our bodies rest a little."

They settled tensely down on Hephaestion's pillows.

"I have not offered you much advice." Alexander reached down to grab up a dagger, balancing it in his palm. "I do not have much to give. I have had time to reflect on my life and I cannot say I always did right."

"But you ruled like...half the world!" Jack protested.

"Yes, for all the good it did me." He shook his head. "I am sorry for how we met. I hope I have done enough..."

"C'mon." Jack nudged the older man's leg with his own. "We'll see you again tomorrow. No need to get morbid on us."

"Perhaps."

"Hey, look." Jack cast about for a way to change the subject. "Remember that big fiery horse?"

"Yes." Alexander looked to David who shrugged.

"It gave my friend this weird scar that kinda moves. David called it a...whatsit?"

"Ouroboros." David said.

"Yeah a that thing."

"An ouroboros?" Alexander's eyebrows knitted together. "That makes no sense. Why would something attack you that could bestow such a sign? The ouroboros is meant to be a perfect being. It requires nothing to survive, it completes itself. Some say it's the mark of eternity and immortality. Very sacred."

"I dunno." Jack pointed to his clavicle. "It was right here though."

"Perhaps the being did not intend to harm him. It might have been a brand of a sort. Marking him as protected."

"The horse did disappear right after that." David said thoughtfully. "Like it had never been there at all. I checked the racing form the next day and Tilly-on-Blue was back on it."

"That crow thing asked us to help him." Jack said slowly. "What if we're wrong about all this? Maybe we got allies instead of enemies."

"It's both." Hephaestion appeared in the hall, sweat dripping from him. "I've walked the limits of our space here. Usually there is little, but now it is teaming with others. Refugees."

"We got refugee dreams in our heads?" Jack reached up to touch his own temple. "Doesn't feel crowded."

"What are they running from?" David asked.

"Nightmares. Terrors. According to the ones I spoke with, there used to be guardians of some kind. They kept dreams and reality separate. Sometime in the last few years, they were all murdered." Hephaestion knelt next to Alexander, leaning into him. "They're coming here because they sensed you."

"Why us?" Jack reached across to grab up David's hand.

"You're replacements." Alexander guessed. Hephaestion nodded. "That is why we were called here."

"Replacement what?"David pressed.

"Guardians. More than that I do not know." Hephaestion rested his head on Alexander's shoulder.

"Jack." David was on his feet. "If the refugees can find us..."

"So can the bad things." He picked up. "We have to wake up....fuck, your family David. Racetrack..."

The ground started to shake.

"Not now!" David reached for Jack. "Wake up!"

"I can't! I've never tried on purpose."

"Try now!"

The shaking increased and the beautiful marble room started to crumble. Cracks snaked across the floor.

"Run." Alexander commanded.

"Where?" Jack demanded. "It's all coming down. We'll stay and fight."

"This is your mind!" Alexander yelled. "Make somewhere to run."

"Little boys..." A terrible voice echoed through the halls. "Tasty mortals. Come out and play."

"No!" It's my mind, Jack thought. He concentrated on the floor. It shouldn't have cracks in it. Wasn't it always whole? "David, get the pillars!"

"What?" David looked around and saw the slowly closing cracks. "Oh!'

Together they held everything in one piece through the next heavy shake.

"Ok, we're gonna be ok." Jack chanted.

"Oh, god..." David's hand was sweating and his eyes were frantic. "This..."

"What?"

"I can smell something burning." David whispered.

"Me too." Jack wrinkled his nose. "So?"

"I never smell anything in these dreams." David pulled Jack into a hard kiss. In dreams, the kisses were always perfect. This felt a little sloppy and desperate.

"Now, now." Hephaestion said wryly behind him. "Time to make an exit."

"We can't." Jack realized, David's point finally getting through. "We're here."

"Yes we can see that." Alexander growled.

"No...our real, physical bodies." David said weakly. "Somehow, they're here."

The floor rolled again and Jack concentrated on it, but it was harder this time.

"Baby guardians." The terrible voice spoke again. "I'm going to eat you all up!"

Chapter Six: Shield Bearer

Bird song woke Racetrack. He yawned, stretching out until his spine cracked. His hand went to his chest and felt the thing under his skin stir. It was strangely reassuring. He felt responsible for the fragile life under his skin. Rolling out of bed, he moved quietly through the apartment looking for Jack or David. Les was sleeping soundly in an otherwise empty bed. Meyer and Esther were still settled down in theirs as well. But no Jack or David. Troubled, Race got dressed. Jack's sword was gone from the bed post.

He waited around for a few more minutes, then shrugged. They'd probably gone ahead to catch some alone time. He dressed in the grey light of dawn and walked downstairs. Cracking open the front door into the streets, he paused. It looked darker out there somehow. He fingered his switchblade, cautiously stepping outside. The door closed with a final sounding 'clunk' behind him.

The crow-thing from the day before dove off the top of the building and circled overhead.

"Where are they?" It demanded.

"Who?" Race started walking.

"The hunter and the warrior!" It shrieked. "They are needed."

"Who?"

"The men you traveled with!"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe they went on ahead."

"No one has left the building."

"Maybe they went out the back." He let his thumb rest on the blade's switch. "Leave me alone."

"I can. And then where would you be? Shielded, but vulnerable. Nememiah would not like that."

"Who's Nememiah?" Race stopped, staring up at it.

"Who's Nememiah?" It mocked. "Ask rather, who are you?"

"I'm Racetrack." He started walking again. "What's your name?"

"Corvis." It cackled. "Sometimes."

"Well, Corvis Sometimes, I got paps to buy to sell, so if you'd excuse me."

"No time for that."

"I gotta eat, bird. Eat to live."

"Ah. Must be alive to eat though." It landed a few feet in front of him. "And you are tempting bait."

"I'm no one's bait."

"Tell them." The bird's long wingtip pointed behind him.

Racetrack looked over his shoulder and nearly stumbled. Behind him, the street had filled with creatures. Some were looking at him hungrily and they had the jaws to make him a meal. Teeth and claws and tentacles poured from every corner. He drew out his knife with one hand and brought the other to his mouth. This time, he was ready. He let loose a piercing long whistle. When his breath ran out, his hand fell from his mouth to his chest. Under his palm the scar writhed in agitation.

"Very bird like." The crow seemed to approve. One of the things, red and green and dripping saliva, darted forward. The crow pecked at it's single roving eye until it shrank back.

"Thanks."

"Keep close." It pressed it's dark back to his.

The shadows oozed and spat forth something that was either a frog or a mouse. It skittered forward, blinking large, heavily lashed eyes.

"My name," It squeaked, "is Ozymandias."

"Uh, hi." Race watched the crowd behind it and they shuffled nervously.

"Excuse me." It coughed and vomited forth another creature writhing and contorted, growing huge and mottled.

The vomited thing spoke.

"My name is Ozymandias." It's breath stank of sulfur. "King of kings! Look on my works, ye Mighty and despair!"

"Uh...hi?"

"Do you not feel your lack?" It yelled, revealing mossy teeth.

The frog/mouse hopped out from behind it's monstrous offspring.

"Bow to your lord, mortal!" It squeaked.

"Don't." Warned Corvis. "They will eat you feet first."

"What happens if I don't?" He whispered back.

"Then they will probably eat you head first."

"Shit." He muttered.

Then he heard a low, mournful whistle.

"Ah." Corvis laughed.

"It's been nice meeting you all, really." Race tipped his hat. "But I think I'll just head off now. "

"I will devour you and you will know my darkness." The thing bellowed, the tiny one trilling in agreement. The crowd of shadows moved restlessly.

"You don't want to do that." Spot walked through the crowd of shadows. They fell away from him, scurrying into alleys and up the walls of the tenement buildings.

"My name is Ozymandias! King of kings!"

"Don't you know how that poem ends?" Spot tapped his cane against the ground restlessly. "Your kingdom is ruins. Don't make me eat you, little dream."

"I have ruled ever vigilant. Why would one mortal boy frighten me?"

Silently, Racetrack wondered the same damn thing. For once, Spot looked out matched, little more than a pale blur against the beast's unholy bulk.

"Your eyes deceive you." Spot's cane tapped lightly against the ground. "Last warning. I'm hungry, little dream. I have not eaten in many years."

"I will deal with you last." It said. "First, this one." It lunged at Racetrack.

"Fine." Spot's cane dropped one last time and burst into blue flame. "You were warned."

Swinging his cane as he would against an erring boy's knuckles, Spot cut through the thing's back. The flames spread over it and it screamed, a low hiss like air being let out of tire echoing through the street.

"No!" Squeaked the frog/mouse. "You're dead! I saw you ripped to shreds and brought low."

"Did you?" Spot leaned over and picked it up. "Interesting."

And before the thing could reply, Spot stuffed it into his mouth and bit down. Pulpy red juices dripped down his chin as he chewed it. One leg kicked out of his mouth and he shoved it ruthlessly back in, grinding down. He swallowed in one great gulp.

The great beast he had set on fire was now a small whimpering mass.

"Pardon..." It managed to say. "I knew you not."

"You were warned." Spot reached down, peeling it's battered body off the ground. He rolled it up and bit into the end. Crunching noises filled the air and the rolled up thing struggled as it flaked and shattered between Spot's red stained teeth.

"That is really gross." Racetrack stared at him.

"Hungry. Starving is he." Corvis croaked.

And indeed, Spot was eating like a boy who had not had a meal in days. The beast that had loomed over Race was now only a few crumbling bites. When Spot finished the last of him, he licked his fingers in satisfaction. There was not one shadowy thing left on the street, except for Corvis. Spot wiped his mouth with one sleeve, leaving a swath of red stickiness on his shirt and around his mouth. He licked his lips.

"Racetrack."

"Spot." He clutched at his knife. "Want to explain a few things?"

"Where's Jackey-boy and Mouth?"

"They were gone when I woke up. Like they disappeared."

"Damnit." Spot's nostrils flared. "Corvis, gather who you can. Protect the awakened."

"Yes, boss." The crow inched sideways. "Sorry I didn't recognize you before, boss."

"Get out of here."

"Yes, boss." The crow hesitated, then leaned over to buffet Race on the back with one wing. "Good luck, kid."

"C'mon, Race. You wanted to know where I go? We're going."

"I want to know what's going on." Race crossed his arms stubbornly. "I ain't walking one more foot until I do."

"There's no time for this." Spot grabbed his arm and pulled until Race was forced to stumble along next to him. "They're in danger and we need them."

"Where are we going?"

"Away." Spot's grip tightened on his arm. "The ouroboros will keep you safe."

The scar shifted uneasily under his skin and Race rubbed it gently. It soothed and quieted under his touch.

"Here." Spot pushed him into the lobby of a tenement.

"Here what?" Race stumbled.

"Into the closet." He opened a door and tumbled them both in among a sad looking mop and broom. "Sit."

Reluctantly, Race sat. After the scene on the street, he had to admit to being a little afraid of the boy he thought he knew.

Spot crossed his legs and laid his hands flat on his thighs just as he had the night under the stairs.

"Put your hands over mine." Spot commanded. "Hold onto my wrists. Don't let go."

Slowly, Race slid his hands over the familiar knuckles and skin. He wrapped his fingers around deceptively delicate wrists.

"Look at me."

Race lifted his eyes up, but got stuck at the mess around Spot's mouth. There were spots of charcoal dust speckled in and among the gore.

"Look at me." Spot said again, softly.

"Who are you?" Race asked, staring into his bloodied teeth.

"Look at me." Race wrenched his gaze upwards to look into Spot's eyes. They were perfectly the same. Cool, blue and unreadable. "Breath. Don't move."

The closet lurched. Race tightened his grip on Spot's wrists. The walls, broom and mop melted into puddles, light poured in from every direction, blinding him. The ground fell away and they were suspended in warmth. Wet globs of color dripped in, painting a new scene. Grass grew under them, a bloated red sun hung in a sickly green sky.

"Is this hell?" Race asked as soon as he felt he could speak. Spot shook his head.

"You can let go now."

Race dropped his hands to his side, wincing a little when he saw the red marks he'd left on Spot's skin.

"Where are we then?"

Spot squinted up at the sun which developed eyes and squinted back. Race stifled a hysterical laugh.

"The Dreaming. Or what's left of it." Spot got to his feet. "We have to walk."

Stiff as if the journey had taken hours instead of seconds, Race rose to his feet. The grass sank underneath him, rust water swirling in.

"Walk where?"

"Think of Jack as we go. That should help."

"But-"

"Not now." Spot started to walk and Race ran to catch up, wincing at the squelching of water under his feet. It reminded him uncomfortably of the dream Spot had eaten.

"Goddamnit, Spot. I deserve some answers."

"Maybe, but right now, you need to walk and think about Jackey-boy. He and David die here and we're all fucked."

"Why should I believe you?" He asked furiously. "Since all this started, you've been all mysterious and you barely look at me. I...feel like I don't know who are anymore. Maybe...what you are."

Spot stiffened, but kept walking.

"I haven't changed." He snapped. "You can just see more now. Walk. Think. Unless you want the world to burn down around your ears."

They walked on and for lack of anything else, Racetrack concentrated on Jack. He thought about the first night when a tumbleweed of a kid had come to the lodging house with only a battered paperback and a single change of clothing to his made up name. Race had taken to him immediately. There was something rough and ready about him. He thought about the long afternoons they'd wiled away teaching each other card games or sitting in companionable silence, flipping through unsold papers.

The grass seemed to harden under his feet. It crackled, frozen like thousands of tiny statues.

He thought about bandaging an ugly cut that Jack had sustained in his first real fight. Cowboy had been winning until the other kid pulled a knife.

"Coward." Jack had said as Race wound a strip of an old shirt around the wound. "He knew I had him."

"Yeah, well next time back down when the hardware comes out."

"Never." Jack grinned, a little lopsided. "Not my way."

"Don't." Race remembered pleading for something nameless. Don't what? Don't leave me? But Jack was never his to begin with.

The grass gave way entirely to a long stretch of sidewalk that spiralled up towards the sky.

He thought about Jack in sunlight, standing tall and laughing as he urged on a near riot. He thought about him walking down the street, a shout and a smile on his lips as he sold papers like they were weighted gold. He thought about Jack bowed and tired under their collective wrath. He thought about Jack in the alley, telling him earnestly that he and David were lovers.

The path ended abruptly, emptying out into a room with high ceilings and a shaking floor.

"Good." Spot patted him on the shoulder. "Now stay behind me."

They advanced across the floor to a distant smear of bodies. A seductive voice purred around them, surrounding the hall.

"Don't fight." It smoldered. "Accept your fate. I will take you into myself and we will be one and the world will shine with possibilities-"

"Shut up." Spot snapped.

"Who speaks?" The voice demanded.

"Show yourself." Spot kept walking, talking the air. The bodies resolved themselves into David and Jack. Behind them were two taller men that Race assumed were the warriors David had been describing.

"I don't follow orders." The growl reverberated, shaking loose a pillar that crashed soundlessly to the ground in the distance.

"You did once."

"...who are you?"

"Show yourself."

"Hi, Race." Jack reached out for him. "How'd you wind up here?"

"I have no fucking clue." He let Jack wrap an arm around him. "There were things outside the apartment and Spot ate them, then he took me here to save you guys."

"Spot?" David's eyebrows knit, taking in Spot's stained appearance. "How'd he know how to get here?"

"I don't know. He's not talking."

"I tire of this game." The voice boomed. "Explain yourself."

"Funny. I'm tired too." Spot yawned dramatically. "But I'm also real hungry."

"Hungry." The voice repeated. "You think on your stomach when I can consume you in moments?"

"February." Spot growled. "Show yourself."

"You cannot know me!" It screamed. Jack's arm tightened around Race's shoulders. "I am unknown and silent and grey."

"You're a two-penny crook."

"That is a lie!" The floor split open in front of Spot. A large meaty hand emerged and dragged after it a long thin body.

"Hello February." Spot drew his cane from his belt. Race shrank back into Jack.

"Who is this child?" One of the oiled warriors asked.

"A friend." Jack said. "I think."

"Who is this?" February reached one of his spindly arms forward, fingers nearly brushing Spot's cheek. "Who calls me names?"

"Don't you recognize me?" Spot tapped his cane against the floor. The blue flames licked up the sides, this time lapping up to his hand.

"No!" February shrank back. "You're dead."

"People keep saying that today." Spot titled his head to one side. "Who's spreading rumors?"

"No one's seen you for years!" The spindly body of February contracted into itself. "Not since that fight with the guardians. Thought they killed you, kicked you out."

"Ah." Spot picked up the flaming cane in both hands. The rippling blue fire caught his sleeves, licking up to his face. "Didn't your ma ever tell you not to listen to rumors, Febs?"

"Please don't." February whimpered. "I'll leave."

"Why were you here anyway? Not your usual style." Spot's hair was alight now and his pants were rapidly catching up.

"No guardians. We came and went through the seams the past few nights. It was so beautiful, so free." February sighed, backing away slowly. "Then I smell those two." One long finger pointed at David and Jack. "Had to make sure they didn't ruin our fun."

"Oh, Febs." Spot shook his head, jarring the flames. "Don't you remember? You don't hurt guardians. There's rules."

"But you weren't...I didn't...."

"Anyone working with you?"

"There's lots of us." February growled, seeming to briefly regain his bravado. "Plenty that don't follow the rules of the guardians now. Why should we? They died and left us."

"They were murdered. I want names."

"Never." February bared his teeth. They were all broken.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Spot smiled and it was far more terrible than anything February could manage it. "I'm so hungry, Febs."

The flames leapt from Spots hands, sparking up and wrapping around February's teetering head.

"No!" February protested too late. "It was Boogey! Boogey and Lily stirring things up."

"What the fuck?" Jack asked.

"He's going to eat him." Racetrack said into Jack's shirt. "Don't watch."

But he couldn't follow his own directive and kept one eye out as the flames drew February's body towards Spot. The fire worked as it had before, diminishing the body until it was small enough to fit into Spot's hand. Like the others, it kicked and screamed even as Spot shoved it into his mouth. A horrific crunch echoed through the room. A fine green mist issued from Spot's lips as he finished the job. Once he'd swallowed, the blue flame disappeared entirely, taking with it every speck of dirt and stain from Spot's face and clothing.

"I think I'm going to be sick." David groaned.

"What manner of creature are you?" Alexander stepped out in front of Jack and Race. Hephaestion moved in front of David. They both put hands to their weapons.

"Creature?" Spot shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm Spot Conlon."

"Jesus, Spot." Jack said. "What was that? Where'd that thing go?"

"I ate it." He burped. "Before it killed you. Hope that's not a problem."

Now that the excitement seemed to over, Racetrack detached himself from Jack and straightened his clothes. He pushed through the two piles of walking muscle and right into Spot's personal space. He stared at the boyish face that had pulled at his gut from the moment they'd met. With a soft sigh, he hauled off and punched Spot as hard as he could. Spot staggered back, hand going to the eye Race had aimed for.

"Start talking." Race spat. "Or I swear to God I will keep hitting you until you do."

"Race, you can't beat me in a fist fight." Spot said, bewildered.

"Didn't say I'd beat you." Race held up his fists. "You can try to land a few if you want. But it's fight or talk."

"I'd kill you."

"Fine. This point? Ready to die rather than be lied to or bullied. I thought you and me weren't hiders? Or was that all bullshit?"

"You tell him, Race!"

"Shut up, Jack!" Race, Spot and David said at the same time.

"So what's it going to be?" Race asked.

"I'm Spot Conlon." He said slowly. "But I'm also not."

"Yeah, I was starting to figure that out." Race said sarcastically. He could feel the other gathering at his back, ears pricked.

"When I was a sprat, I looked down off the top of my building and thought about jumping." Spot wrapped his arms around himself, gaze steady to an invisible point somewhere over Race's shoulder. "Instead, I got an offer. This..ghost, spirit thing, it just showed up. Said that it needed my help to protect kids like me. Course I agreed. Stupid, making a deal without asking any questions. Anyway, the ghost thing, it wasn't really a protector of kids. There was these things called guardians. They keep the stuff from Dreaming and Reality nice and separated. Except something went wrong, bad wrong and the..fabric stuff that holds them apart got all ripped. Things on this side got jumpy, realized maybe the guardians weren't so hot. They started to kill them off."

"So you're a guardian?" David asked.

"No." Spot snorted. "The guardians keep the peace. I'm an executioner. Lots of them, one of me. Until they decided maybe they didn't like the way I did things. There was a fight. Executioner got soaked and went looking for a host to keep it going. Without it...the guardians found out the hard way why there was an executioner to begin with. They were all murdered. I tried my best to keep an eye out. Lying low. And starving. Food, food everywhere and not a bite to eat..."

The forlorn look softened Race's anger. Hunger was something he was intimately familiar with.

"And that changed?" David prodded.

"Soon as you and Jackey-boy got here." Spot pierced David with his eyes. "Guardians returning to the Dreaming means feasting and war. Figured you wouldn't mind my methods too much. So I found you mentors in the immortal hall." He nodded at the Macedonians.

"You did this?" Jack gaped at him. "Alexander tried to kill me!"

"If I had tried, you would be dead." The king assured him.

"You couldn't face what's coming on your own." Spot cut in. "Now you have training and me. That'll have to be enough to start fixing things. First though, we have to get back. Some of the escapees ain't happy with guardians returning and they'll turn on the people you care about first. Probably start with the lodging house."

"They can't hurt them!" David protested. "We've never seen one interact with someone who couldn't see them."

"They can." Spot turned and gestured. A wooden door rose from the marble. He made towards it.

"Wait." Race put an arm on his shoulder, spinning him around.

"You gonna punch me again?"

"What's your real name?" Race asked.

"What's yours?" Spot's eyes narrowed.

"Valentino." Racetrack ignored Jack's small sound of surprise.

"They called me Nememiah." Spot gave him the ghost of a smile. "But you guessed that already, didn't you?"

"Why didn't you trust me?" Race asked, astonished by the magnitude of hurt in his own voice. "I can see not before, but after the Harbinger burned me..."

"Didn't want you looking at me like you are now." Spot shrugged his hand off. "Didn't want you to think I was a monster."

"You saved my life, what? Three or four times just today. You ain't no monster. You're like...an angel or something. An angry one." Race blushed and pulled at Spot's arm a little. "Just you coulda told me. I woulda followed you anyways."

"That's it!" David blurted. "That's where I heard Nememiah before. On one of those pasteboard cards about angels. He's the angel of righteous causes."

"Yeah, well. I didn't choose it." Spot said not looking away from Race. "You woulda?"

"Maybe I ain't mushy like Jack or a girl like David, but I thought you'd kinda know anyway." Race shifted uncomfortably. "Way I went lookin' for you all the time."

"Oh." Spot stared at him.

"You should be going." Alexander interrupted. "Hephaestion and I will keep the peace here as best we can."

"Look..." Racetrack cleared his throat, crowding Spot against the door, leaning down to whisper in his ear, "Love you. Even when you're a creepy little fuck. Maybe 'specially then."

"Oh." Spot said again.

"Lodging house?" David reminded them. "Death? Destruction?"

"Shut it." Spot snapped, turning back to Race. "Picked a bad time to say it."

"We might die."

"Not if I gotta say in it." Spot said firmly.

"Spot..." Jack said.

"Fine. We're going." He turned and kicked the door open. He looked back at Race. "But this conversation? Ain't over."

The four boys walked out the door into the reality they had left behind.


	7. Nememiah

The door spat them out right in front of the lodging house. The sun peeked over rooftops. Nothing and nobody stirred on the street.

"You sure we shouldn't check on my family first?" David worried. "Seems quiet here."

"Got someone on them." Spot opened the door slowly, peering around into the corners.

"What about Brooklyn?" Jack asked. Spot pinned him with a withering gaze. "Right, guess you thought of that."

"There's some that kept loyal." He gestured them forward and they crept up the stairs. "They got Brooklyn in hand."

"Like the Harbinger." Race said quietly, fingers reaching up to brush the snake that bunched and writhed under his skin.

A large mushroom was growing at the top of the stairs. A midget with a bright red hat sat on top of it, smoking a pipe. Our of the corner of his eye, David saw Spot's fingers start to smoke.

"Answer me these riddles three." The midget croaked. "Or forfeit your weapons."

"No thanks." Jack drew his sword.

"What are the riddles?" David asked, one hand ready to grab for his bow.

"What question can you ask all day where you can get a different answer every time with all the answers being correct?" The little man grinned.

"What time is it?" David answered.

"That's an easy one." Mumbled the little man. "A man rode into a town on Friday, went straight to a hotel and stayed there for two nights, then rode straight out home again on Friday. How is this possible?"

"The horse's name was Friday." David sighed. "Even Les knows that one."

"Well than you will surely be defeated by this one! A cloud was my mother, the wind is my father,my son is the cool stream, and my daughter is the fruit of the land. A rainbow is my bed, the earth my final resting place,and I'm the torment of man. What am I?"

"Rain!" David huffed. "Now get out of our way!"

"No!" The midget shouted, stomping his feet. "That was my best riddle!"

"You need new material." The point of Jack's sword nicked the little man's neck. "Move."

The little man narrowed it's eyes than laughed stepping backward.

"Oh, little guardian." He grinned. "By all means."

Warily, they all trooped past the little man. Spot pointed a warning, smoking finger at him and the midget ran under this toadstool. The bunk room was grey in the early morning light. The room had been tossed, the beds shoved in jagged piles against the wall, chairs and trunks filled with the paltry belongings were flung open. The floor was covered in a dark undulating carpet. The newsies were huddled in small terrified groups at the rooms edges, climbing up onto the beds to avoid the mass. The older boys were hauling the younger one out of harm's way. Whatever had occurred here was enough to reveal the Dreaming to every single newsie.

"What the fuck?" Jack toed the mass with his toe. It slithered over his foot with a wet sucking sound. He sliced through it with his sword and they watched as the severed piece rejoined the mass.

"It's waiting." Spot growled as it tried to encroach on his space. "For it's master."

"Who's that?" David asked.

"Choose a name. Puck, Boogey, the devil ... chaotic nightmare." Spot's skin started to flare. "I suspected at the time, but February's confession firms it up. He killed the guardians, probably just bidding his time until the fabric got thin enough to come through."

A slow clap echoed through the room. The scurrying newsies froze, searching for the source of the sound.

The dark carpet undulated and rippled and finally split along the middle. An elegantly dressed man in an impeccable suit stepped up through split. He was tall, lean, but otherwise utterly normal. He looked a little familiar around the eyes. A woman in a slick red dress followed behind him and he reached a hand down to her.

"I taste fear." She hissed. A long forked tongue darted between her lips. "And childhood."

"All yours, darling." The man said gently. "As soon as we have done with these nuisances."

Spot had gone as white as a sheet. "You don't get to wear that face, Boogey. It doesn't scare me anymore."

"Doesn't it?" Boogey smiled. David shuddered. It was a perfectly normal smile. Even white teeth, normal lips. And that's what made it chilling. It was a perfect replica like a Halloween mask pulled over an animal's face. "Tell me Nememiah, why a mortal shell? A poor hiding choice if you ask me."

At one time, the shadowy mass at their feet lashed out. It grabbed Spot's cane and threw it across the room and pushed him against the wall. A long tentacle defined itself and wrapped around his throat.

"Get off of him!" Jack took up his sword ready to cut Spot free.

"Oh look dear." Boogey said to the woman. "The little guardians want to play."

David had his bow in hand and an arrow nocked just in time. The darkness splintered and shuttered. Tall ebony warriors blossomed from the ground turning their attention on Jack. David got off a shot and was pleased to see it sink into the things chest. It pulled ineffectually at the arrow. He shot it again and it went down. It's comrades surged over it. Jack was crouched low, lashing out with his blade. David set himself up just behind him. Together they fought back the endless wave. Some of the newsies seemed to be seeing what was going on. They were throwing things at the warriors and encouraging their incredulous friends to do the same. Blink and Mush were lighting balls of paper on fire and sending them into the crowd where they sizzled and fizzled on contact.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Race creep towards Spot, switch blade in hand. The executioner had stopped fighting, too busy trying to suck in air any way he could around the tentacle's grip to set himself into a deadly blaze.

"Aim for the broad." Jack said, ripping David's attention back to him. "Look!"

The woman apparently did not have Boogey's patience. She was advancing on Blink and Mush's impromptu siege team. One of the fireballs got tangled in her hair, but she seemed not to notice. Quickly, David sent an arrow her way. It caught her in the thigh and she let out a blood curdling scream.

"Death to the guardians." She hissed, spinning in her route. "I will crush you with my bare hands!"

"Don't be hasty, dear." Boogey said quietly. "The Executioner lives. We must kill him before the guardians."

"Why? We've done this before. You've grown too careful." She pushed the man aside and started walking in Jack and David's direction. "Dismiss your warriors, Morningstar. I want them for myself."

"As you wish." Boogey sounded amused. The warriors dissolved back into the ground.

"I don't like being told what to do." She explained to Jack and David. He nocked another arrow catching her in the shoulder. "That's not nice."

"Neither is this!" Jack lunged forward, but she neatly sidestepped him, kicking him in the knee as he went past. There was a sickening crack as her foot made contact.

Hands shaking, David shot off again. She caught the arrow and broke it in half.

"You're just a baby guardian." She sniffed. "I've killed better men than you. Always telling me what to do. Making us respect mankind. I don't respect any of you.Your fear is my food. I eat your pain. What is there to respect?"

David tried not to listen and shot at her again, the arrow went horribly wide. She ripped his bow from his hands and cast it on the ground.

"You don't exist without us!" He protested. "We create you and sustain you. You can't kill us."

"Watch me." She reached for his chest and he felt the hard points of her nails cutting his skin. "I like the feel of beating hearts."

"Feel this, bitch!" Jack shouted over her shoulder and shoved his sword through her chest. The point came out only inches from David's neck.

"That's irritating." She snarled and then collapsed on the floor.

"You killed her!" David said in amazement. Jack smiled at him wobbly, then pitched forward. His right pant leg was torn, soaked in blood and bone gleamed through the wound. Carefully, David got an arm under him, bearing him up.

"Guardians cannot kill dreams, you idiots." The Boogeyman drawled. "She will manifest again in the dreaming soon enough. You can only inconvenience us. We followed your laws while the executioner stood by your side. Without him, you're petty annoyances and nothing more."

Jack and David both looked to Spot. Racetrack had climbed on a bunk and was working with knife and fingers to free Spot from the tentacle that was slowly strangling him.

"I got a lot done by being annoying." Jack said through gritted teeth. "How bout you let him go and test yourself on me?"

"I won't make the same mistake as my companion." Boogey walked towards Spot and Race. He pointed a finger at Jack and David. "Stay."

Ugly black limbs wrapped their way up their bodies. They fought them off, but they grew faster than blade and arrow could fight them. When they spread to Jack's injured knee, he went white and faint against David's side.

"Help us!" David yelled at the newsies before one of the flailing limbs wrapped itself around his mouth.

"The floor will eat you." Boogey said to the boys sweetly. "First skin, then muscle and bone."

All the newsies looked down at the ground and then back at Boogey. Blink had a hushed conversation with Mush and the two of them started their way across the peripheral of the room climbing from top bunk to top bunk. Specs and Skittery took over the high position they'd given up and started gesturing at the younger boys.

"Executioner." Boogey purred. "Injured, mortal and choking under my own hands. Do you know how long I've waited for this?"

He rubbed his hands together like an excited child. Race cut into the tentacle with a vengeance.

"You ate your own kind." Boogey continued. "Followed the whims of mortal guardians. And for what? They turned on you anyway. Cast you out, bleeding and broken."

He gestured and the writhing dream mass pulled Spot forward out of Race's grasp. He hung limp and blue in front of Boogey.

"I think I shall do you the favor of putting you out of your misery." Boogey grinned. "Had you breath, you would probably thank me."

David wiggled his fingers, kicked his legs, but to no avail. He looked frantically over at Jack, but he was clearly barely holding on to consciousness. Blink and Mush had reached Racetrack, but they had frozen there as if locked in indecision. Racetrack looked murderous and David silently cheered him on.

"Enough talk." Boogey reached out and cupped a hand on either side of Spot's face, the tentacle dropped away. "Say good night, Nememiah."

In one swift jerk, a cruel loud snap echoed through the room. Boogey dropped Spot's body to the floor.

"No!" Racetrack launched off the bunk, landing in a flurry of blows and slashes on the nightmare.

"Stupid child!" Boogey roared, batting at him. His hands slid through Racetrack's body as though it wasn’t there.

"You'll die for that." Race stabbed at him and inky wounds opened everywhere, spilling onto the floor.

"Get off of me!" Frustrated, Boogey shook his body trying to dislodge the boy, but nothing he did seemed to have any effect. "Impossible!"

Spurred on by the sight, Blink and Mush took their own flying leaps and set up on the monster. Boogey flailed at them and sent Mush flying into a wall. Blink got a hold on his legs and dragged him down to the floor before Boogey managed to cast him aside. The younger boys started to heckle and jeer, shouting encouragements to Race. With the nightmare's attention divided, the bindings on David began to loosen and he worked himself free. He cast around in the muck for his bow, trying not to look at Spot's corpse.

"You cannot kill me." Boogey said, punching Blink hard enough that the boy staggered. "I'll only come back."

"Then I'll kill you again." Race said calmly and stabbed the small blade into Boogey's neck. "And again. I'll make the rest of eternity a living hell for you."

"Who protects you?" The nightmare reached to pull the knife out, but Racetrack was faster. He pulled out the blade and drew it across Boogey's neck.

The nightmare fell into it's own undulating servant. The younger boys cheered and dropped to the floor. The uneasy black morass let them pass and soon they were ripping the nightmare to shreds. David heard a moan and turned back to collect Jack off the floor.

"Hurts." Jack muttered as David hosted him up.

"I know, I know." David said quietly, propping him up off the floor. The injured knee made him gag to look at. It was mess of blood and bone.

"Spot." Jack demanded.

"He's dead, Jack." David said gently.

"Gotta see."

Reluctantly, David helped Jack make his way across the room. The newsies were mostly hovering around Blink and Mush, with a few continuing the dismantling of Boogey. Racetrack was kneeling by Spot's body, holding his bloodied switchblade tight in one hand.

"I'm sorry." David said uselessly.

"He was a good kid. Executioner. Thing." Jack said tiredly, head dropping to David's shoulder.

"I don't understand." Race said blankly, reaching out to pick up one of Spot's hands. "He's immortal. Or part of him is."

"That's not what Boogey kept saying." David said gently. "Mortal body, right?"

Gingerly, Race moved to Spot's side, laying a hand on his chest.

"No." His fingers traced the circular scar on his chest. "No...no...this is...I can fix this."

He turned the knife on himself.

David snatched it out of his hand, nearly dropping Jack to the floor.

"You can't do that." David heaved a sigh, closing the knife. "You can't just give up."

"I'm not, you moron." Race snatched the knife back. "The Harbinger gave this thing to me for safe keeping, right?"

With shaking hands, Race unbuttoned his shirt. The ouroboros was thrashing under his skin.

"What are you doing?" They were all oblivious to the watchful eyes of the newsies behind them.

"Giving back his heart. I think." The blade was still sharp as he cut a deep cross in the middle of the angry scar. "I...can't get it out. It's..."

Faint, David helped Jack to the ground. Hands free, he faced his friend.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked. "It's the only thing keeping you safe."

"Just do it." Race slid his eyes closed.

Trying to concentrate on getting the job done, David peeled back the skin Race had cut at. There was even more blood than he expected and his hands were soaked when he slid his finger tips around the soft scales of the snake. He drew it out, wincing as it struggled and ripped the torn skin. In his hands, it seemed smaller. A jade green snake, it's tail grasped in it's mouth slithered in his hands.

"Here." Race bent down and unbuttoned Spot's shirt. "See?"

A deep round scar sat just over Spot's now still heart.

"Told me he got burned doing factory work." Jack said between hitching breaths. "Why he switched to being a newsie."

"Doubt that." Race gestured. "Set it down."

David lowered the snake unto the round scar. When it made contact with Spot's skin, it wiggled and writhed leaving smeary traces of blood behind.

"Do we have to cut him open?" He asked, trying to avoid looking at his own bloody hands.

"I don't know." Race sat back on his heels, hands clutching at his open wound.

The snake moved in a slow circle. It gained momentum slowly, it's small muscular body throwing itself into the task. It wore a path into Spot's skin, breaking up the thick scar.

"Guess not." Jack leaned heavily on David's shoulder.

The snake shook under their watchful eyes until it had worried itself under Spot's skin. It pulsed faintly from it's new nest. After a few moments, it started to glow the familiar blue of the executioner's flames. The tinge spread through Spot's chest and outward to his hands and feet. It reached his broken neck and surged so brightly they all had to cover their eyes. When the light faded, Spot's eyes shot open. They were filled with dancing flames.

"Bastard." He spat, sitting up, rubbing at his neck. "I'm going to kick his ass."

"Racetrack took care of that already." Jack patted him on the back.

"Why are you bleeding?" Spot snapped.

"Saved your life, asshole." Race growled back.

"Oh, right." Spot stared at him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Spot surged forward and pressed a bruising kiss to Race's lips.

David looked around for something to bandage their various wounds and stopped short. There was a silent crowd of newsies staring at them.

"Uh..." He said.

He turned back to Spot and Race. Spot had crawled into Race's lap, indulging in the kind of kissing that was usually reserved for dime store novels. Jack was staring at them wide eyed. David hit him on the arm.

"Ow! Already injured here!" He protested. David pointed to the staring boys. "Oh, uh... hi!"

"I think," Mush said gravely. "that I'm gonna puke."

He proceeded to faint dead away, drawing some attention away from the rest of them.

"You owe us a big time explanation." Blink said. "And can you please make them stop doing' that?"

"No." Jack said cheerily. "To both. All you gotta know is, we just saved all your hides from being eaten by a big nasty thing. Dreams are real. Don't go out alone at night. Oh and David and I are queer together too. Would someone get me a fucking splint now?"

The pain was clearly making Jack delirious, but the boys were used to taking his commands on face value. They concentrated on getting their fearless leader's bone snapped back into place while Spot tore up his own shirt to bandage Race's still sluggishly bleeding wound. Specs and Skittery held Jack down while Dutchy nervously pushed at Jack's leg until the bone clicked back into place. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Jack didn't pass out. Instead, he started in on a speech about equality and the power of love and David covered his mouth with a hand.

"My family." He said gently. "We have to go take care of them too."

"Oh right." Jack blinked through the sweat that trickled down his face. "Let me just..."

"Stay." David pressed him back into the bed that had been cleared for him. "You can't do anything like this. I'll be back soon."

"We have to stay together." Jack mumbled, eyes already sliding closed against the pain.

"It's fine now." David leaned down and kissed his forehead, trying not to care who was watching. "Sleep. Dream if you have too."

Reluctantly, he stepped away, eying the restless group of boys.

"I've got 'em." Mush, recovered from his fainting spell, stood in front of the bunk. "Anyone wants a piece of 'em has to go through me first."

"And me." Blink crossed his arms and stood in front of the bed.

Some of the other boys shifted nervously.

"I still say we deserve an explanation." Skittery said into the silence. "And I never wanna see any it again, but Jack's still Jack. We all owe him. Even if he is a queer."

The rest of the boys nodded, letting some of the tension out of the room.

"Thank you." David smiled at them all and headed out with Spot and Racetrack hard on his heels.


	8. King of New York

It was terrifyingly normal outside. Race pressed a hand against his chest, stifling a groan against the radiating pain. It had all been real even if the street showed no evidence of it. People went about their business, the sun shone hot and unforgiving on the pavement. Far in the distance, the horses would be warming up for the day's competition. He longed to be there, selling paps and placing bets.

"You think they'll be all right?" David asked, nervously fingering his bow.

"I got 'em protected." Spot said, one of his hands brushing against Race's side. Someone had lent him a shirt and it hung on him almost comically. "You'll see."

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Race concentrated on not breathing too hard and trying to make his brushes up against Spot look accidental. People kept shooting them confused stares, but Race figured that had more to do with his blood soaked shirt and David's mysterious hand motions. Or it could be Spot's eyes which can't seem to settle. Fire flickered in the whites, licking into his pupils.

The tenement reared up overhead and Race tensed. He was glanced around, but there was nothing waiting in the shadows. Spot grabbed hold of his wrist and squeezed. David charged ahead, taking the stairs two or three at a time. They charged up after him, until Race's chest was heaving and bright sparks of pain flashed behind his eyes.

In front of the Jacob's door was a tidy pile of Dream corpses. They had been severed through, some split in half. David tried the door. Finding it locked, he rustled through his pockets for a key. He didn't have time to find it. The door slammed open and the point of sword was at his throat. Race moved closer and saw Sarah framed in the door way. She was holding a broadsword that was easily the double the size of Jack's. Her long hair was pinned neatly up to fit under a shining silver helmet. Her delicate frame was weighted down with armor.

"I told you I got you covered." Spot slapped David on the shoulder. "Heya Joanie."

"Executioner." The blade lowered. Sarah's voice sounded peculiar, stilted. "This vassal is most acceptable. I like her."

"Glad to hear it." Spot elbowed past her into the apartment. "Anything really nasty come knocking?"

"No. The family sleeps. I walked their dreams and made them pleasant before the siege began."

"What are you doing out of jail?" David scolded. "You're going to get in so much trouble!"

"Brother." She identified. "You are the kind older one."

"I...yes?"

"Sarah says not to worry. She and I have this under control."

"And who are you? And what are you doing in my sister's body?"

"I was asked to come here." The great blade sheathed, she walked back into the apartment. "To protect the family."

"Oh...well. Thank you. But you need to get her back to prison."

"She was released. There were monsters in the jail and the guards were afraid of them. We were not. We fought them back. They released us out of gratitude." She smile, but it was a slight strange thing. "Has the worst past?"

"The first battle is won." Spot said as David rushed to his room to check on Les. "The war...it may never end. Two guardians and me...not enough to keep things in check."

"If you can hold your position, others will come." She took off her helmet and swept sweaty hair out of her eyes. "I can guard as well as any."

"Three then."

"What about me?" Race challenged. "Do I have to have a crazy alter ego or super powers?

"Guardians don't have super powers. They can walk between the Dreaming and waking world. You can't without help."

"Well, I killed that other thing."

"You didn't kill it." Spot's lips went thin. "He'll be back. And you only managed it because of the ouroboros. It protected you."

"You protected me, you mean. You could've taken it back when I first got it like the Harbinger said too." Race crossed his arms, then winced. "I want to help. I mean I can see 'em at least."

"So can most of the newsies now." Spot shot back. "They've been woken up whether they like it or not."

"Fine, let me explain it to them. Maybe they can't fight 'em like David and Jack or you, but they can keep eyes peeled. I can run that."

"It's dangerous."

"So's breathing."

"Scouts are a valuable resource." Joan interrupted. "Very valuable."

"No." Spot shook his head. "I won't risk them."

"Then get me one of those damn immortals." Race threw up his hands. "I'm a part of this now whether you like it or not."

"They're not bread!" Spot snapped. "I can't just hand them around with a piece for everyone. It takes centuries to make an immortal."

"It's true." Joan said faintly. "Many people must dream us until we form something solid and permanent. The will of many many to make only a few."

"Everyone's fine." David returned, then looked between them. "What'd I miss?"

"Race wants to join the good fight. Use the newsies like some kinda scouting group." Spot scoffed.

"Why not?" David gave them both a weary smile. "This is day one and we've already had one fatality and two casualties. I think we could use all the help we could get. What about Brooklyn?"

Spot stiffened, the flames in his eyes overwhelming the color.

"Oh, you fucking didn't!" Race threw up his hands in exasperation. "They already know don't they? That's why they helped me out no questions asked. That's why you have those guys posted on the wrong end of the bridge. You screwed up secretive bastard!"

"They had to know when the shit started flying." Spot grumbled.

"You're lucky I like you so damn much."

"Guys, I hate to interrupt this tender moment, but I'd like to get back to Jack. We're going to have to explain something to them. Including them might be the better bet. They probably already feel like it's their fight." David pointed out. "I found some of my mom's launduam for Jack and an old shirt we can use to re-bandage your chest, Race. It's starting to look pretty bad."

Spot's attention was successfully rerouted and he spent the next ten minutes re-wrapping Race's wound with delicate precision. David and Joan/Sarah talked briefly in the background, setting up a patrol schedule between the tenement and the lodging house that would still allow both of them to go to work and sleep.

"Are your eyes gonna stay like that?" Race asked for lack of any other conversation that wouldn't lead to a fight.

"Is that a problem?"

"Not for me. Other people might get scared though."

"Only wakened can see them." Spot pulled a bandage a little to tightly and Race squeaked. "Manly."

"Hey, I cut open my own chest today. I'm plenty manly."

"Yeah yeah."

"So I kissed you in front of everyone."

"I was there." Spot looked amused.

"I think maybe they won't want to listen to a queer."

"Well that's too damn bad for them." Roughly, Spot grabbed Race's chin and stared into his eyes. "You tore your chest open. They don't think that's manly and leader enough for them, they can answer to me."

"So I can do it then?"

"How the hell am I gonna stop you?" Spot dropped his hand. "You do what you think you hafta. I'll back you up."

"Oh...that's good. Thanks." Race titled his forehead forward, just enough to touch it to Spot's. "I still love you, jackass. We gonna talk about that?"

"After we've both slept like the dead and eat a decent meal." Spot didn't move though. "It's...not something I have time for right now."

"Yeah." Race breathed out. "Yeah, it's a bitch like that."

"The circulation bells have definitely rung already." David said wryly. "Let's hit the road."

"I'm not selling today." Race trudged out the door, giving Joan/Sarah a last wave goodbye. "You can't make me."

"I don't think any of us are." David sighed. "I want to get Jack to a doctor, but I don't think we can afford it."

"Give it time." Race pat him on the shoulder. "Cowboy's healed up from worse."

The Lodging House was mostly back to it's normal messy chic when they returned. Most of the boys had even gone out to sell, except for Mush and Blink who were still stationed by Jack's bed looking like sentries.

"How's he doing?" David asked, kneeling by the bed.

"Uh...better. It's weird." Blink leaned over and pulled down the blanket. "He started making a racket a bit ago, but he was asleep. Sort of... disappeared then reappeared, Mush almost fainted again. Anyway, when came back..look..."

"Oh." The wound was clearly healing. The bone looked straighter and the skin had already started to knit. "I guess that's one of the perks."

"Wasn't sure it would kick in for you yet." Spot said through a yawn. "Couple more nights in Dreaming and he'll be set."

David sat down on the bed. He stroked Jack's hair and looked a little lost.

"So...you guys are queers." Mush said out of nowhere. Blink elbowed him in ribs. "Ow! Those still hurt asshole."

"Yes." David said. "What do you want to know about first? The pervert stuff or the dream stuff?"

The boys looked torn until Racetrack took pity on them.

"Here." He passed them some change. "Get us all some lunch and we'll tell you both."

They ate thick deli sandwiches sitting on the floor around Jack's bed and attempted to tell them everything. By the end of the meal everyone looked a little dazed, but more or less satisfied.

"I think we can get most of the guys to come around." Blink said when they'd finished. "Some of the religious ones will kick up a big fuss over the queer stuff and the dreaming stuff, but I think we can get 'em to keep it to themselves. If it was anyone, but Jack and Spot... no offense Mouth, Race. But anyone ain't scared of Cowboy is afraid of Spot."

"None taken." David laughed. "I think they'd be surprised if they tried to throw a punch at me anyway. I've picked up a few things."

"What about the scouting thing?" Race asked. "Think they'll take to it?"

"Sure. They see stuff now and they got real riled at what that guy did to Spot. Course, they also freaked out when you cut yourself up and brought him back to life. It was kinda confusing."

"We'll try to explain it the best we can." Race rubbed a hand over his face.

"So...what now?" Mush asked. "I mean, we're at war right?"

"We have time to prepare. " Spot grimaced. "They'll have to regroup, rebuild themselves."

"How much time?"

"Two, maybe three days."

"But they don't know that you're immortal again." Race pointed out. "That'll help."

Jack stirred and turned on the bed, staring blearily at the back of David's head.

"They all right?" He mumbled.

"Yes, Jack." David leaned his head back to look up at him. "Spot put Joan d'Arc in Sarah's head. She kept everyone safe."

"Oh." He yawned. "That's good. We gonna die?"

"Maybe. How do you feel about going to war?"

Jack shrugged. "Been at war my whole life. First time I got decent weapons though."

"That's the spirit." Mush laughed. "Cowboy rides again."

They all laughed, even though it wasn't particularly funny. Jack dragged David up onto the bed and leaning against him, retold the parts of the story that he was sure everyone else had left out. Blink and Mush laughed at the right places and the conversation flowed to more ordinary things. It was a relief.

While they were distracted, Racetrack took a moment to whisper to Spot.

"You gonna go back to Brooklyn tonight?"

"Yeah." Spot grimaced. "They've probably heard enough rumors today to sink a barge."

He tried to shove the image of Spot limp on the floor, neck at the terrifyingly unnatural angle.

"Gotta correct that then."

"You're coming." Spot said in the cavalier commanding way that Race was beginning to suspect hid deep uncertainty.

"Yeah."

So before anyone else came back, they said their goodbyes and started the walk back to Brooklyn. They didn't talk much and didn't acknowledge the trail of boys they started picking up blocks from the bridge. They fell in behind and around them like a silent pack of dogs, milling and circling their alpha. Spot barely acknowledged them, holding his chin up high as they crossed over. Newsies swarmed from every corner, spilling over the bridge onto the docks until it was clear that every kid in Brooklyn that touched print was there.

Spot climbed up a pile of shipping cartons and surveyed them with calm proprietary. Racetrack sat a few boxes below him and tried not to show his anxiety. He couldn't read the crowd and despite Spot's new found invulnerability, he wasn't interested in seeing it tested by a soaking from his own boys.

"Hey Spot!" Someone called out, brave in their anonymity. "Heard you were dead!"

"I hear he's a queer!" Said someone else. "King of Brooklyn is a pervert!"

The shout was picked up and soon there was a loud buzzing of accusations and shouts. Spot reached for his cane and twirled it once. The crowd was instantly silent again.

"I'm not dead. Obviously." He pinned ever one of the boys in the crowd with a sweeping look. "But I am queer. Is that a problem?"

"We don't want no filthy pervert!" The noise rose up again.

"Why?" Spot asked.

They stared back at him dumbfounded.

"It's against God!"

"Is it?" Spot tapped his cane on the ground. Race cringed, but no fire was forthcoming. "So's gambling, swearing, sleepin' with girls and working on Sunday, but everyone of you do it."

"It's disgusting!"

"So's your face." Spot said calmly. "But no one's booting you out of Brooklyn."

Some of the boys laughed.

"How do we know you ain't gonna do somethin' perverted to one of us?"

"Because he's with me." Race said, before he had any time to think about. He climbed to stand up next to Spot. "And most you guys are pretty damn ugly."

Spot cut him a quick glance and a short approving nod.

"I'm still Spot Conlon." He turned back to the crowd. "Who found you a place to stay in the winter of '97?"

Silence.

"Who worked out the deal that got you all extra dollars a month? Who makes sure none of you went hungry when you were learning the ropes? Everyone of you owes me money. Some of you owe me your lives. You wanna take me down for something that's always been true? Go ahead. Just ask yourselves first, who's gonna look out for you then?"

A few of the boys looked ashamed, but most of them were still glaring daggers.

"We can look out for ourselves!" The same anonymous voice filtered out, but this time Race picked him out.

"Oh yeah, Deacon?" He grinned nastily. "You looking out for yourself the day I saved you from those mafia boys? Or should I left them to take their dollars out of your hide?" He picked another boy out of the crowd that looked mutinous. "Or you, Pig. Didn't Spot teach you the streets and find your sister a job?"

"Didn't know he was no queer."Pig muttered.

"So you would have left your sister in the gutter rather than accept help from someone because of what he did in private? You're all cowards."

"I ain't." Fink pushed through crowd and stepped up onto the lower tier of crates. "I reckon Spot's better than anyone else here. He lost a tooth taking a punch for me once." He stood defiantly on the crate, crossing his arms. "Someone wants a piece of him, they gotta go through me."

"And me." Pickle stepped up next to him. "Saved me from drinking myself to death."

"Aw, I don't give a damn about Spot." Said a thick looking blond head. "But Race, you done help me find my ma and I can't forget that." He stepped up too.

A few more boys moved stood up, telling everyone else the things Spot and Racetrack had done for them. Race was starting to flush deeply.

A slender reed of a boy pushed through the crowd. He took off his cap, revealing shocking red hair and bowed before taking a few neat leaps up the crates.

"Fuck you all. I'm queer too." He barred his teeth at the crowd. "And I know exactly who else is. This ain't the time for secret keeping."

To Race's surprise, several more boys moved reluctantly arraying themselves around the slender kid.

"What's your name?" Race whispered.

"Troy." The boy winked. "And boy-o, you got to tell me how you got Spot Conlon telling the world about this. Gotta get me that story."

Many boys were still standing loosely around the crates. There were more off then on, but that never stopped Spot before.

"Looks to me like we got a situation, boys." Spot said casually. "This is still my city. And I don't hold with ungratefuls crowding up my streets."

"Guess they'll have to leave." Race commented looking at his nails.

"Looks like. Guess they could go to Manhattan."

"Not likely." Race reminded him. "Cowboy wouldn't like it. Him being queer to."

"Good point. Well, you can got to Queens." He offered sweetly.

"You can't make us leave!" One of the biggest dissenters growled.

"Can't I?" Casually, Spot held out a hand and blew on his finger tips. The blue fire erupted from them. Then he drew out his slingshot and set his ammunition ablaze. He aimed the fiery ball at the protester.

"He's the devil!" The boy yelled.

"No." Race said coldly. "He's the only thing standing between you and hellfire."

"Let's get out of here. I don't care if Queens is full of wusses, more space for us." Suggested someone in the crowd.

In the end maybe twenty boys of the fifty or so present crossed the bridge, striking out for Queens. The remaining boys stood guard over the bridge, watching them leave in cool silence. When the last of the deserters was gone, Spot finally got down and walked among his loyal subjects. He said a few quiet words with each one. Race brought out a deck of cards and did what he did best. The boys that had rallied around Troy's call gravitated towards him and he drew them in with light conversation and a quick round of blackjack. Eventually, Spot sat down next to him, silent and steady.

The world was a strange one, but as long as coins still rattled and the cards were dealt, Race knew how to live in it.


	9. Epilogue- 11 Years Later

Jack sat on the lip of a fountain, the water falling around him casting thin rainbows. His sword lay next to him, honed and humming.

"Mr. Sullivan?" A young boy approached. He was wearing one of the markers David had devised. They were a nice subtle touch,, a strip of green felt stitched over a pocket. Jack dredged up a smile.

"That's me."

"The other Mr. Sullivan told me to come get you. He said I should take your patrol tonight."

"Oh?" Jack stood slowly, barely suppressing a wince. Everything was stiff, especially his right knee. After that first injury, he had figured out how to heal himself in the Dreaming, but it was never quite the same as doctor's touch. "And who are you?"

"Daniel, sir." The boy shifted uneasily. "I came in a few weeks ago from upstate."

"Uh huh. And you're ready for a night shift in the park already?" Jack looked over him doubtfully.

"Mr. Sullivan said you'd say that." His smile was missing a tooth. "He said to tell you that he's not an idiot and that you should get home before he has to come get you himself."

"Uh huh." Jack frowned at the kid. He picked up his sword and slid it home. "Try not to get eaten."

"Yeah, yeah." The kid sat down on the fountain in the spot Jack had just abandoned. He was immediately soaked. "Hey! How come you're not wet?"

"Trick of the trade, kid." He walked away with a smirk, despite his aching knee. Within a block or two everything loosened up and he settled into an easier stroll. It was unnerving to head home so early. Days were long. He woke up with dawn, dressed and headed out to patrol. Then he walked down to the textile factory where he worked as a line manager under the name John Jacobs. He did his level best to not draw attention to himself. In the late afternoons, he was Jack Sullivan working for queer rights, planning protests and writing cajoling letters to politicians. And at night, he took his own shift patrolling the waking world. When he finally dozed, his moved his rounds to the Dreaming with David at his side.

Sometimes, when he woke ill-rested and aching like today, he knew that something had to give.

The Sullivan Brothers Inc. offices were an eye searing blue today. To the unawakened, it was an unremarkable ramshackle building that held nothing more interesting than white washed windows. To the aware, it was a safe haven, a beacon calling in those that had seen the Dreaming. It glittered and shifted it's appearance to fit the moods of it's inhabitants. He pushed open the front door and winced as the bells tinkled off key'.

"Hey-a Jack." Troy said from behind the front desk.

"Anyone in today?"

"Nah. Sarah said it was dead quiet and went home." Troy settled back in his chair. "Swanky reported a hostile by the docks about an hour ago. Turned out to be a log."

"Can we demote him?"

"He's already at the bottom of the pack." Troy sighed. "I'll talk to him again. Anyway, go on up, I got this."

Wary, Jack started up the stairs. He could hear a few voices, but there were usually at least a half-dozen people staying upstairs. They paid a bit for lodging and it kept them off the street. When one of the stairs creaked under his foot, conversation ceased and sounds of people moving around frantically filled the air. Resigned, he crested the last stair.

"Happy birthday!" Cried several boyish voices, interspersed with a few deeper ones.

The table was laden with food, including a cake that was definitely one of Sarah's.

"Goddamnit." He muttered, but a smile crept onto his face against his will.

"Thirty." Said Spot helpfully. "You're old."

Spot had stopped aging much at all a few years ago. He'd never grown very tall and his hair remained light. If it weren't for his air of pervasive menace, some might have called him angelic looking.

"Ancient really." Racetrack started to dish out food. The ongoing battles had been less kind to him. He'd lost most of his vision in his left eye from a long slash of a talon. The scar bisected his forehead, eyelid and the top of one cheek. He also remained short, a dark mirror to Spot's fairness.

"You all ain't far behind." He dropped into a kitchen chair and accepted a plate of food. "Where's David?"

The younger boys, a mix of ex-newsies, awakened and queer kids that the Sullivans housed, swarmed over the food, slapping him on the back and making ribald fun of his advanced age. No one answered his question. More hungry than concerned, he turned his attention to his plate. The food was good and the company pleasant. He let himself be distracted.

His patience was rewarded as he finished his plate. A warm strong arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"Happy birthday." David murmured into his ear. "Sorry, I'm late."

"Everything all right?"

"I wanted to secure your present."

Jack tipped his head back to receive a kiss. Beautiful, consistent David looked much the same. The same dark curls and reluctant smile. Sure there were the beginning of crow's feet gathering at his eyes and a few threads of silver starting to crop up in the dark mop, but to Jack, David was eternally nineteen.

"You got me something dangerous?" He asked hopefully.

"Potentially. I'll tell you about it after dinner, I'm starving."

The conversation ebbed and flowed, cake was cut and soon the boys started to drift away. Some had night patrols, others had early-to-rise jobs. Finally, it was just Spot, Race, David and Jack, picking through the scant remains of food, all loathe to leave anything behind.

"Gift." Jack insisted around a mouthful of biscuit.

"I went down to the factory today and told them you died." David smiled, racking cake crumbs into his mouth.

"Haha." Jack reached for a glass of water, longing for something harder.

"Happy birthday." David licked his fingers clean.

"Are you crazy? We need that money."

"No, we don't." Reaching out to grab up his hand, David squeezed his fingers. "Remember that old woman you helped two years ago? She was being attacked by one of Boogey's guardsman."

"Sure, I remember her. Oldest awakened I ever met."

"She died and left her money to that nice boy from the Sullivan Brothers."

"What? Why?"

"More importantly, how much?" Race asked leaning forward eagerly. "Can we all quit working?"

"You love your job, shut up." Spot yanked him back.

"Enough. It won't last us forever, but if we're good with it, between that the donations, the boys paying for their rooms, we can be comfortable for a long time." David said decisively. "I'm going to stay with the paper. Our connections there are too good to give up, so that'll let us hoard more."

"What am I going to do all day?" Jack asked, a little blissful and a lot confused.

"You have two jobs still. You can answer all the mail that keeps getting back logged. Organize more protests. Go on more patrols. Make me dinner."

Jack started to laugh and before he knew it was coming out in great heaving breaths. Everything seemed funny at the moment, lighter and freer. The other three exchanged looks over his head and he fell to ground, clenching his ribs. Ten years of fighting tooth and claw to just scrap by and some old biddy hands him partial retirement on a plate. A woman, if he remembered correctly, he'd barely held his temper with. A wave of a wand and now they were comfortable. He could do what he wanted.

"Jack..." David squatted the floor, placing a concerned hand on his arm.

"Do you smell that, Davey? It's free air." He told him. "Smells like Santa Fe."

"You're a lunatic." But David was smiling too and the world seemed calm and good. He surged upwards, pulling David to the floor and smothering him with kisses.

"Let's get out of here." Spot muttered, grabbing Race by the shoulder and steering him towards the door. "Try not to fall down the stairs, idiots."

In silence they left David and Jack rolling across the floor. Troy waved them out the door and the street greeted them. They maintained one of the tiny rooms upstairs, but Spot had never given up the habit of moving around. Sometimes, Race would wake in the middle of the night to find him gone entirely, wandering the streets in a watchful vigil. Brooklyn always beckoned. No longer it's king, Spot still held a propriety feeling towards the streets and haunted them regularly. Mostly though, they went in mutual agreement to a number of accommodating spots.

"Glad David worked that out." He said, kicking a rock down the street. "Jack's been stretched thin for a while. So've you."

"I ain't gonna get wrinkles over it." Spot pointed out. "So who cares?"

"I care." Race sighed, but couldn't find a farther argument. "Where are we going?"

"Old place." Spot bumped his shoulder. "Anyway, I may not have it cushy like you, but I like the brewery."

"Cushy! I gotta stand all day, same as you."

"Sure, but you get to handle money, not barrels."

Inevitably, he wound up at the track, taking in money, giving out forms. In reality, it was a dull, repetitive job, but the pay was good and he got to watch all the races when all the bets were taken up. He never laid down his own money anymore. It had been a gradual thing. Every time he laid down a bet, he'd think about Sullivans or Spot and he'd put out a little less. His money wasn't purely his own anymore, he'd realized and that'd been the end of it. The whole of his gambling career was now a monthly poker game played with potato chips in the Sullivan attic.

"Too bad none of its mine." Race grinned, bumping his shoulder into Spot. "Where are we going?"

"New place. You'll like it."

"All right."

On cool summer evenings, the city was almost beautiful. The sky was streaked with pink and orange, the sidewalk glittered in the fading light and a few small dreams flitted in the corners of his vision. Race could not pinpoint one place in his life that felt like home, but rather the entirety of the city from sidewalk to sky sheltered him. Sometimes it was frightening, but so was home. Perhaps that was why Spot kept up his many niches and hiding places.

"Here." Spot took him down a suspiciously wide alley. At the end was a broken door.

"Abandoned?" He guessed.

Making short work of the door, they pushed inside.

"Spot." Race breathed out. "What is this?"

It looked like a small chapel. A few rows of wooden pews were arranged around a small elevated platform. The alter boasted no cloth, nor a cross behind it. Instead it served as a platform for an elaborate painted wood carving nearly as large as the alter itself.

"Look." Spot encouraged, so Race walked up it.

"Holy shit." He breathed, reaching out to touch one figurine.

Someone had captured the frozen tableau of the worst moment of his life. There was Spot prone on the floor, painted pale and bloodless. There was his own hands separating his skin as David reached inside. And here was Jack, one hand on Spot's head face drawn in pain. At the base was carved: St. Valentino Resurrects Nememiah on the Day of the Great Return

"I followed something here a few nights ago." Spot said quietly. "It disappeared before I could question it."

"I don't understand. Why would anyone do this?"

"Why does anyone worship anyone?" Spot shrugged.

"You have to die to be a saint." He remembered that much from long ago masses.

"Maybe not to dreams. Death isn't the same thing to them."

"To you either." Race added quietly. "You'll still be here when I'm dust."

"I shouldn't have taken you here." Spot turned away. "I thought you'd think it was funny."

Race looked back over the statue, tracing his own figurine with one finger. They never talked about it. Mostly because they didn't talk much period. Jack and David were good at talking. He had always been envious of that. David never doubted exactly how intensely Jack wanted him. Jack never had to spend days finding a way to ask what should have been a straightforward question. Even now, a decade later, Race had questions. What would happen when he died? Would Spot just keep going as though nothing had changed? No doubt, he'd be sad, Race had enough confidence to know that much. But sadness and grief...they faded and Spot would keep on living. Would he find someone else and forget?

The day might not be far away. His body had been cut, battered and burned through the years. His life expectancy, never long to begin with, had decreased sharply when he took up the cause of the guardians. Not to mention the numerous fist fights at Jack's rallies. Eventually, someone would get the drop on him when he was alone. He stared down at his younger self, tearing open his chest. He wouldn't change his decision for the world, but he felt a fleeting regret for giving up such a guarantee of invulnerability.

"It isn't funny. It's...sad." He let his hand drop away. "I did it for you. It was selfish. Martyrs are supposed to sacrifice for the greater good."

"Let's find somewhere else to sleep then." Spot said stiffly. "Forget about it."

"No." Race frowned.

"No?" Spot turned back.

"No. You took me here on purpose, so we'll stay. Show me where we sleep."

Spot had apparently thought this out. There were soft blankets spread over a thin discarded mattress. It was far kinder than a hard floor would have been on Race's long suffering back and he sank into it gratefully. Spot stared down at him looking hungry, but wary. Race raised a hand up to him. They tumbled together, limbs entwining in a messy knot.

They kissed in long wet strides, fingers reaching and peeling at clothing. This language they could both speak fluently. Spots hands were eloquent, caressing and signaling affection, adoration with every touch. Naked, they could feel and smell their sincerity. They nudged and pushed against each other until they were both on their knees, Spot slicking himself from a small bottle of cooking oil. When he pushed in, Race let out a bone shaking groan that cracked the silence wide open. He could feel Spot's thin chest against his back, the slow movements of the ouroboros raising goosebumps on his spine. One of Spots arms went around his chest, the other going to work. The moved together in a dance made familiar, but no less thrilling over long years.

The first time they had tried it, after a blushing stammering conversation with David, Race had vowed never to do it again. The pain had been unbelievable and he'd been sore for days. Spot wouldn't even look him in the eye. Slowly, curiosity returned though. They tried it again, slower and more tentatively. And again and again until it was like this. Slow, languid, a long leisurely trip to pleasure. Drops of sweat from Spot's forehead painted his shoulders. Blindly, his hand found the one Spot had on his chest. He laced their fingers together and brought them to his lips. He kissed each knuckle.

As usual, Spot finished long before he had found satisfaction. Obligingly, he pulled out, pushed Race down and finished him off with long gulping swallows. Sated, they collapsed together, Spot pillowing his head on Race's chest, careful not to lie on the shoulder that had been dislocated the year before. It would still swell at the slightest provocation.

In his blissed state, Race found thoughts and memories coming more easily. Like how Spot used to carve up his own slingshots. He added it all up and come up with the implausible.

"It must have taken you months." Race said into the dark. He could just pick out the outline of the statue now. "Why?"

"Because." Spot yawned into his chest.

"I mean, why would you want people to what...worship me? To what end?"

"Dream about you."

"Why should they dream about me....oh."

"Oh." Spot agreed.

"You can't force people to make me immortal. And you said it takes centuries anyway! For some thing that won't even really be me?" He poked him roughly in the shoulder.

"Better than the alternative." Spot sighed. "Worth a try."

"You're immortal, you've got nothing but time to find someone to replace me when I get eaten by a grue."

"Replace you?" Spot turned his head incidentally digging his sharp chin into Race's ribs. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"I'm going to die. Troy, Pickles, your boss...hell even Jack and David will eventually." Race explained patiently. "You aren't. Forever is a long time to be alone."

"I don't have too. I could tear it out. Age, die." Spot pointed out.

"But you won't. It'd ruin the Dreaming for sure."

They lay in silence. The statue growing more and more indistinct as true night settled outside the windows. Race was starting to think Spot had gone to sleep like that, pointy chin and all when he spoke.

"I don't have an easy answer." He said softly. "So I do things like this. To remember there are things to live for. Grace. Power. Protection." He hesitated, then shook his head. "And love."

"Guess we'll just have to enjoy what we've got while we've got it." Race decided.

It was a cool night and the breeze passed over the newly founded Church of St. Valentino. It's tendrils moved and shook window panes and ruffled curtains. The last twist of the wind settled outside a different window where two men slept. It was a cool, peaceful night. The type that encouraged long walks and sweet thoughts. David dreamed.

He walked down a long paved road, keeping pace with Jack, who in the Dreaming was still whole and hale. They stopped into the marble palace, speaking a while with Alexander and Hephestion. They swam together in a deep warm ocean. They judged cases, mediating a dispute between a whale and a lamp. When they were finished, they returned to their path, following it's winding stones until a fair head appeared on the horizon.

"Hail, Executioner!" Jack called, laughing. His good mood had carried over into the Dreaming and David found it infectious and warming.

"Hail." Spot caught up with them and the three of them ascended a mountain that had grown as they watched.

At the top, all of the Dreaming rolled out before. It was a mottled, mangled mess. In the distance, rents and tears in the fabric between worlds sucked at the corners. Not far from where they stood in the direction Spot had come from, a beautiful spire poked up over the skyline.

"We've been hearing stories." David said, smiling. "Of a new saint among the loyal dreams."

Spot smiled enigmatically.

"That's one way of going about it." Jack laughed, clapping Spot on the shoulder.

"Look." David pointed to the left. "One of the suns is coming up."

Dawn did come, painting the Dreaming in a riot of color. Somewhere, deep in the sprawling town under the mountain, a long voice called distant and lonely through the morning air:

"Extra! Extra! Boogey's Hide Out Discovered! Guardians in Hot Pursuit! Extra! EXTRA!"


End file.
